


I Want to Watch You Fly

by psychedelicurchin



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Smut, Time Travel, Witchcraft, au as fuck ok, i've never written hamilfic before i promise that i'll make y'all proud, modern for the first half, obviously, past for the second half, reader is a witch, this is gonna take a while to get off the ground i'm SORRY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelicurchin/pseuds/psychedelicurchin
Summary: The last thing you expected, upon being named the sole inheritor in your great-aunt's will, was that you would turn out to be a witch. You dabble in the books you find, practice small spells to see how you take to it, all pure curiosity. When you attempt an intriguing but advanced spell whose description mentions time and those important to us, what you want is to summon your great-aunt and get some questions answered. You stand corrected: the actual last thing you expected was for Thomas Jefferson to appear. What exactly is important about him, to you, to pull him to your time? More importantly, what do you do with him now that he's there?





	1. Season of the Witch

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS MY FIRST HAMILFIC AND I'M A LITTLE NERVOUS BUT I CAN'T SHOW IT but actually I'm gonna show it a lot. I'm very sorry if my portrayal of anyone canon is OOC, I'm trying to find my voice for them. There are others tagged, yes, but they won't be here for a longass time and I'm sORRY if you were here for them early but please be patient.

The gravel driveway crunched beneath the roll of tires, a car slowly cruising towards its end and the wood-slatted house that sat there, large for its style. It lacked the modern look (Y/N) had grown used to, but she remembered this place, flickering memories of a few family visits. Until recently, this had been her Great-Aunt Ruby's home, a spinster and eccentric as she remembered but good-hearted and well-meaning. Ruby's will had named her young niece as the sole heir, inheriting the house and all it contained. What exactly that entailed remained to be seen, and the thought may have been enough to scare someone else away. The property was spacious; sturdy and tall trees were sprinkled throughout the property, grass grew thick and green, and a pond was somewhere behind the house with its attached memories of swimming at family gatherings. The grass would need mowing. The pond would need maintenance to keep fit for human life. The trees appeared strong, but they would need inspected if funds would allow, just to be certain of their health in case of a strong wind storm.

The engine grumbled to a stop with the turn of its key, and she blinked towards her experiment. The outside of the home appeared sound and in good upkeep. If luck was in her favor, the inside would have the same relieving condition. The silence was broken with a sigh, a shake of her head to match. One hand reached to the passenger seat and swooped the long handle of a bag over her shoulder, the other withdrew the car keys from the ignition, and a thud of the car door shutting behind her exit briefly disturbed the country's quiet. For a moment, she stood beside the car, only listening and nothing more. The air was so still, not like a town. It took a good fifteen minutes, at least, to get to the nearest. In the trees around her, birds chirped their songs. Aunt Ruby had given more of a gift than perhaps she had realized: she had given an escape.

As she took the porch steps, she reminded herself she was not nearly as unfortunate in life as she could be. It wasn't an escape that was especially needed, not really, in the scheme of things, but it was still one she would latch her fingers into and refuse to let go of until it had been proven this life was not for her. This country life, away from crummy apartment living, ex-boyfriends rearing their faces around unexpected corners from the pure coincidence of living in the same city, and, perhaps most importantly, away from reminders of loss.

"Oh come on," she snarled, jiggling the key in the lock that refused to give. Her free hand came to brace against the door, palm pressed over the lock and it gave suddenly, an easy click as its resistance came to a sudden halt. A pause settled around her, staring and blinking at the doorknob, but ultimately, withdrawing the key, she shrugged and continued inside.

* * *

 The amount of exploring that had to be done was more than anticipated. Thirty minutes turned to an hour, into two, into three, the interruption of her stomach's growl a welcome sound. By evening, a plan's beginnings had begun to take shape. Groceries had been bought and were tucked away neatly into the refrigerator, thankfully functional, and cupboards, although Chinese takeout was the winner of the dinner roulette tonight. The house was clean, quite neat in fact, but there was still some clutter and some dusting to do. If this was going to work, then the house would have to become (Y/N)'s home, not a shell of Aunt Ruby's.

She ate in silence, conserving the battery life of her electronics for now, after having giving a friend a call to assure her she was still alive. There had not been a serial killer waiting to get her, nor a vengeful ghost or anything else out of a horror film. The lack of anything busy happening around her was soothing. There was no one to criticize, no one to snip and gripe. No one was fighting or trying to pick one. The only reminders of family were the fact that this house had been in the family, and that was all. Aunt Ruby had not been one for family photos all over the house, and the ones that (Y/N) had found were of Ruby's generation, not hers or her mother's. Nothing there was forcing reminders on her, and it lifted more weight than one may have expected.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow would properly start this adventure into this lifestyle and house claiming.

* * *

The room beside Aunt Ruby's was filled with what had been assumed to be just eccentricities collected over her long life. Papers of varying instruction and confusing drawings were taped to the walls, some on tables. In the armoire was a startlingly large array of dried (and in the process of it) plants, the labels on their pots mostly smudged. Books were stacked here and there, in organized piles but an overall lack of a conventional filing system was very present. At first, what they were wasn't concerning. Her hair was tied up and the oldest jeans in her wardrobe covered her legs. A mop and a bucket, the old fashioned way, was brought with her for the hardwood floors. Her back was starting to sting, but her energy levels hadn't dropped too harshly just yet. She could keep going and take a break while this room dried.

It wasn't until vigorous mopping to the beat of a song playing from her phone's speaker knocked a paper from a table of books that she began to look them over. The paper was what started it, having bent to pick it up. Initially, the thought had been to put it back on the table and keep working, but her eyes caught sight of her name, and that brought her to her break much sooner than planned. This wasn't just the nutty writings of an old woman; this was a letter.

* * *

_My dear (Y/N),_

_If you're reading this, then well, I'm dead. But don't be sad for me! I'm sure I'm currently having the time of my (after)life, ha!  Furthermore, if you're reading this, then this means you have at the very least considered my home that I have left in your care. I thank you for that. You always were the one in the family to hear things out, even the crazy ideas. This trait is more valuable than it sounds._

_Maybe life isn't going the way you want it to. I know you've had your heartaches, and I won't name them. You don't need me to remind you of what you hold in your heart and mind. Our struggles make us stronger, (Y/N). You're here now, to read my letter. That means something. You mean something! I am proud of you, even though I did not meet you many times and you may not feel we knew anything about each other.  
_

_I do, however, have something possibly more pressing (and I sincerely think more interesting) than boring old words of encouragement. I was young once too; I remember rolling my eyes at an elder's wisdom. If you are, it's all right. I'm not sure if you will have taken the time to look at my books, and I know there are many of them. I am sure no one in the family has told you, because it has not affected them, and if I've calculated correctly, then it must lie in you, untapped. Our family carries witchery, (Y/N). I was a witch. Your great-great-grandmother was a witch. There might be some sort of once or twice removed cousins or something. It doesn't carry to every next generation. It jumps around, almost as if it decides after the fact of a person being born. It's a very strange concept. I may be entirely wrong, in which case I'm very sorry my dear. The last thing I want to do is get your hopes up and have you turn out to be perfectly ordinary. I do hope you have the talent in you and it just hasn't been sparked out yet; from what I remember and know of you, you deserve the extraordinary._

_To tap your power is simple: all you need is to attempt any spell you like. I recommend you start with one of the green books. Their level of difficulty is clearly written on their covers, and most of their spells are very handy and easy to learn. If you take to magic, then good for you! You may help yourself to anything I have. This room was my magic room, so anything my spells needed, I have. I know this sounds like the ramblings of an old woman losing it. Logic would have you ignore me entirely, but life runs on without the hold of logic, untethered and unruly. I implore you to try, (Y/N). You may find more here than just this big old house._

_I love you, my great-niece. Don't do anything I wouldn't do,_

_Your Great-Aunt Ruby_

* * *

Two weeks had passed since the discovery of Aunt Ruby's letter. Between the remaining mission to organize the house and clean some life into it and a job back in town, it was difficult to find the time to take up witchcraft. The fact stood, however, that she _was_ trying. Aunt Ruby had been right to suggest the green books. Levitating small objects, though at admittedly small heights, brought glee to her face, and the trick eliminated the need to get up and go retrieve small things she needed. There was an instant mop-up spell for spills, a tiny void that behaved like a miniature vacuum on crumbs and other messages, a spell to speed up the cooking process and to assist in the steps if specified, and so many more that the aspiring witch was dying to try.

Every success was thrilling, even the smallest progression forward. The thought of being a witch had only occurred to her in wistful thinking, and only in regards to its portrayal in popular culture and books, never something really possible. This was something unique, something that gave her a distinction and something to work towards, now that she was there, and she was breezing her way through the simple spells. Her confidence was booming, and it showed in her conversations and productivity at work and at home.

Be that as it may, it did not mean that she was ready for something whose dedicated page described something that sounded uncannily like a mixture of time travel and summoning a spirit. The phrase "across time" was specifically used, along with "those important to us." It set her mind wandering. If successful, it was possible she could contact Aunt Ruby and get some direct answers about... well, any of this. Progress was being made, but it didn't help her understand any of what was happening.

The decision had been made, with the goal in mind of contacting her aunt and setting some issues straight. Why wouldn't she be able to do it? She had succeeded at all other attempts. This was just another spell. It required some true set-up, which had not been encountered before but it was nothing that she couldn't handle. Chalk had been found in a drawer within the last week; it was only now that she knew what it must have been for. The design took a little work, circles within circles but nothing too bizarre or precise, not by the page's copy at least. A smudging of dried fennel needed to be done over the circle, and a candle needed to be lit, but beyond that, preparation was simple. Her assumptions remained stubborn certain this would be easy. Of course it would; she was doing splendidly at this witch business. This would only prove to herself that she was ready for bigger work than what she had learned thus far, and perhaps Aunt Ruby.

Standing before the chalk circle, book in her hands, she cleared her throat. The air felt strange, like the static electricity lingering in the air before a thunderstorm rushed in. The fennel? It seemed a strange excuse, and the least likely with all things considered at that moment, but nevertheless, this would continue. It had to. Her eyes flickered over the instructing words yet again, and she nodded to herself. There was nothing difficult or foreign about these words, nothing latin or of questionable pronunciation.

"To all things past, I open the door," she recited, maintaining strength and clarity in her voice. "In time's shadow, I cast my light. I open the door." The flame of her candle danced erratically, drawing away her focus. Nervousness began to stir in her stomach. The book did not say what to expect, only how to prepare and proceed with casting. The air prickled the fine hairs on her arms. To continue felt very pressing, to get this over with and settle the atmosphere.

"Through time I summon my love, let it be!"

For a moment, there was nothing but a consuming stillness. The flame stood still suddenly, and the air was, if even possible, something beyond quiet. The unease she felt assured her that, even with this questionable response thus far, something was happening. She had cast something, whether it was what she had meant or not. Her breath caught in her throat as the lines of chalk began to glow a fiercely bright white, and she grinned. There was no way that Aunt Ruby wasn't on her way. This had to be right.

"What the hell?"

The startled (and rightly so) barked question of a _man_ in the circle was absolutely not what had been expected. He had materialized facing away from her, but she could tell by the bouncing motion of his wild curls he was looking around. Her throat had dried suddenly and she swallowed hard. So much purple, but that wasn't quite it. Fuchsia, more accurately. She prayed, as nerves pooled together in her stomach, that this man was somehow related to her and could work in lieu of Aunt Ruby. He would turn around, she would recognize him from some old black and white photograph as some great-uncle, and she could at the very least talk about their family and send him on his way.

Abruptly he turned, and he seemed just as surprised to see her as she was him. He was not a relative; that much was certain. She had never seen him in a family album in her life, although there was something vaguely almost familiar about him, as she didn't mean to stare. Somewhere, she had seen him, but the placement of where was going to have to remain undisclosed. She swallowed again and willed herself to breathe evenly, while mounting thoughts piled in her mind. What had she done wrong? She noted the furrow in his brow, the slight frown on pouty lips framed with fastidious facial scruff as he studied her.

"And who are you?" he asked slowly, expectantly. Frantically, her eyes darted over the page.

_Through time, I summon my loved one, ( speak their name)._

This was most definitely not the line she had so confidently spoken.

"Excuse me? Hello?"

The impatient questions brought out a surprised jump, her eyes snapping back to the stranger. His hands had settled on his hips, atop his coat. He looked at her incredulously, an eyebrow raised, and she blushed, feeling herself internally wither with embarrassment. If not her loved one, nor specified, then who was _he_? Why did it bring him? She most certainly didn't love him. She couldn't even name him.

"I-I um... I'm sorry-"

"Do you even know who I am?" he asked a southern drawl attached to his voice with continued disbelief. Both eyebrows raised when she shook her head. "You don't- well, little lady, as a gentleman I hate to run out on you, but however the hell you brought me here? Send me back."

"Oh- right, of course," she stammered, pouring over the next page, index finger running over lines of words. "I've got it, I'm very sorry sir. To all things past, the past must go. I close the door, let it be."The words tumbled out one after the other in a flustered rush. The silence between them as they waited for anything, any sign at all of some event stirring itself up, was palpable yet not like the feeling she'd had before. The air didn't still. It felt appallingly normal. The candle wasn't flickering madly. The chalk wasn't glowing.

"I don't think you've, ah, got it," he observed, unimpressed. His eyes took her in, watching her look at that book of hers over and over. There was something all very unnatural about this, and all things considered, even to him, he was calmer about this than one might expect. Things considered being he had somehow been plucked out of Monticello and put here. Wherever here was, whoever _she_ was, whatever that damn book said.

"No, no that's what it says- why isn't it working?" He caught the distressed whine at the edge of her voice, and he sighed. She didn't seem to notice as he stepped closer to her, his arms folded across his chest.

"Look," he said, looking at where her face would be if she would turn it up from the pages letting her down. "You're panicking. I certainly don't claim to know anything about... whatever this is," he waved a hand at her book, "but I do know that doesn't help. You need to breathe." Slowly her face tilted up into his view, and in spite of himself, the man smiled. Gentle, at this shy little lamb with cheeks that matched his clothes. If she could, he was sure she would disappear instead of him. "You remember how to breathe, right?" He said this with humor intended, and it seemed to reach her, coaxing out a small smile and a nod. When he looked expectantly at her, she inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and he smiled wider.

"Good. Come on, give me the book."

"But I-"

"No buts," he insisted, prying the book out of her hands and plunking it down on the table behind her. "If you're going to argue with me, you're not going to win. I do this for a living."

"Who are you?" she asked. He shrugged.

"I asked you first, you know," he reminded. He almost smiled again when the color of her cheeks, finally seeping away, flushed right back in. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No, you didn't. I did that myself," she assured quickly, looking down as her hands fiddled with each other in flustered habit. "I'm (Y/N)."

This time he did mean to embarrass her.

"Well, Miss (Y/N), the pleasure is all mine, I'm sure," he sugarcoated, and he lifted one of her hands, meeting its top halfway for a kiss. "Thomas Jefferson, Secretary of State I might add, at your service." For a moment, she was quiet. In actuality, a little stunned by his forward gesture of introduction, not to mention baffled by the circle's choice of _him_ to send through to her.

"Wait, what?"

"I know, I know. It must be exciting to meet me. I can only imagine what questions you must have for me, whatever kind of magic you pulled to bring me here," Thomas gloated as he straightened fully, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Well... no," she admitted. Thomas's smugness faltered. "I mean, I'm sure I could think of something, if I think on it. It's just that... well, I was trying to summon someone I knew, and the spell sent me a founding father instead. I don't understand how you're here."

"Well that makes two of us, darlin'."

She took a deep breath again, shaking her head. If he wanted answers, then she had none to give. Only what the book said, what she had messed up in the summoning, and the refusal of the return spell to cooperate.

"Maybe it would be better to take a break," she supposed, and she began to walk to the door. "If you'll follow me, I can at least get you a drink or something, and I'll do my best to explain. I'm very sorry about this, Mr. Jefferson-"

"Thomas."

"... Thomas, then," she accepted, almost hesitantly, as she half turned around from her stance. He was smiling at her; keeping her calm, rather than being angry or agitated with her bringing him here for no good reason, and his smile was infectious, stirring up a little one of her own again. If there was more to say, she saved it for now. Thomas followed her as she crossed the door's threshold and continued through her home.

"So... A founding father, they're calling me? As in, America's my child? More than one of us?"

"I've got a lot to explain."


	2. Bold

Thomas Jefferson.

The one and only Thomas Jefferson, in her home.

It was still a concept not settling into her mind, even as the pair of them settled in the kitchen. The lack of real answers that she had for him embarrassed her. She had done her best to explain how this had happened, where they were, and who she was. Without much of anything of much worth to offer him in those areas, she had prodded him for more about himself, which for a time seemed to please him. Secretary of State, the nation's first. Ambassador to France. He asked quite a bit about France's modern state and, to her dismay, seemed a little disappointed when she couldn't tell him anything personally there either. How boring she must have seemed to him. This was a learned and worldly man. He invented the swivel chair for goodness sake- had he done that yet? Written the Declaration of Independence, now sitting in the kitchen of a 21st century nobody who hadn't even meant to call him. Quietly nursing a bottle of water, she watched him. The wheels were turning in his head, but he wasn't venturing many of his thoughts to her. She couldn't blame him. After all she was a stranger, disrupting his life in this way and being blundering enough to not be able to send him back. How would she feel, if suddenly thrust without warning 200-something years ahead or behind her time?

"I am sorry, you know," she said, though the statement was a repetitive one. Her shoulders sloped downward with his noncommittal shrug. His frown did not go unnoticed. He kept his gaze on the coffee she had made him, the Keurig machine something had never been more grateful to have for its speed. "If I could send you back-"

"Why did you even try that?" The question halted her speech, mouth open for a moment longer before her lips pursed. His eyes were sharp. This was not the calming influence she had encountered in the room they had met. "If you could send me back, but you can't. You haven't been at this for even a month yet you go on and mess with something as complex as _time_? Summoning people?"

"I didn't-"

"What did you think was going to happen? Did you even once consider when it goes wrong? What if it was worse than me?"

"Considering this tirade against me it couldn't get much worse, no," she shot back, sitting up straight after a brief retreat inwards and back in her chair. She had never done well being yelled at, though this wasn't quite the same. He was angry, and he had the right to be. She knew this.

"I have important work to do, (Y/N), I'm the goddamn Secretary of State!"

"You sure do like to point that out."

"Do you not understand what you might have done? I was preparing for a cabinet meeting, I would have mopped the floor with Hamilton, and now what? Has my time stopped? Am I just _gone_ , and he can go on doing what he wants with Washington backing him up?" He let out a groan, running his hands into his thick curls and gripping, frustrated. (Y/N) didn't respond, blushing beneath the weight of his words and staring at the grain of the wooden table between them. "Either way I'm met with incompetency," he mumbled.

This time, she did have a reply. He looked up at the sound of her chair scraping against the floor, pushed out abruptly as she stood.

"I'm _sorry_ ," she said again. "I've welcomed you into my home while you're here, I made you coffee, I've answered your questions the best I can, but you don't want to think about that do you? You want to keep reminding me what a failure I apparently am, well _fine_ ; you can just sit there and feel sorry for yourself. You were- you were so nice before, up until we got here. I thought maybe this could be kind of fun, until I figure out how to send you back. You're alone, you're scared, and you'd rather tear me down over it than find a way to deal. I'm not going to sit here, in my house, and be bullied after I keep apologizing to you, Mr. Jefferson."

"I am _not_ scared-"

"Bullshit," she snapped. For a moment, the two stared at each other, chocolate up against (e/c). Neither wanted to cave, but even so, it surprised her when it was Thomas who looked away first. Echoes of anger still touched his face, but he wasn't retaliating, which she took as a good sign. She sighed, centering herself upon the exhale.

"You can go anywhere you want, okay? The property's pretty big. Or you can stay inside, I don't care. I'm going to clean up that chalk and see if I can find anything to explain why it didn't work."

She hadn't really been expecting a reply, and she didn't get one, leaving him to his thoughts in the kitchen as she headed back to the stairs and up.

* * *

The overall silence that filled up the house for most of the resulting day was dreadful, constantly reminding her of their disastrous conversation. She had watched him from a window, walking outside. His coat remained, even in the warmth of early June. It made her smile, the bright and bold spot of color against the collage of greens. It matched him, in terms of boldness, historically unafraid to speak out for his beliefs whether they were political or down to the magnificence of macaroni and cheese. She almost laughed. That smile faltered when, anxiousness weaseling its way into her mind, she wondered if she would get to know him any better, or if she had blown the chance.

However, if she knew Thomas Jefferson (which she admittedly still didn't, not properly), there was one way that had a good chance at mollifying him towards her...

* * *

 

"I have to go into town for a minute," she informed in the later part of the afternoon, unintentionally meeting him as he returned to the house. Thomas looked at her, but he didn't speak, only affording her a nod of acknowledgment. She supposed that was what she deserved, honestly. Her gaze broke from briefly studying him, looking at her sneakers as she rubbed the back of her neck in thought. "Um... What I said before- you're not a bully, I'm sorry. You have every right to be upset with me, and... I don't know, if you're the man I've read about, I guess really it would be worrying if you _didn't_ put me in my place about it." A shrug accompanied her apology, searching Thomas's face for some kind of reaction and, when none seemed to really appear beyond his brown eyes boring into her, she looked down again and nodded. Defensively she clutched the wad of lanyard and keys, feeling the metal press into her fist and distracting her from her disappointed hurt.

"Okay, well... I'll be back soon."

She stepped past him, headed for her car. The unimpressive Ford Focus was ten years old, but it had served her well, more faithfully than most people had. Mentally she ran through the small list of what this food run was for one more time.

"You've read about me?"

His voice was smooth again, a hint of amusement in the southern lilt. She didn't dare think he had forgiven her yet, but there was no denying the instant relief she felt pool in her shoulders, unaware how tense she'd actually been until now. She turned around, feeling more hopeful at the tiny smirk on his face, as his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her to elaborate. She couldn't just say she read about him and then not humor him about whatever the books said.

"I have," she said, taking a few steps backward so she could lean her back against the side of the car, a less awkward stance than simply standing there. "I mean, I can't say how accurate any of it is, but they generally seem to be portray you as very... passionate, but when you want to be, for your beliefs; not for every issue that comes your way. Almost strategic about it, in a way. You're well-spoken, and you like to use that against one Alexander Hamilton." She smiled a little, pausing there.

"Guilty," he chuckled, shaking his head, and she couldn't stop herself from grinning at the sight. Finally, he wasn't reacting as a stone towards you. This was something good. This was something to work with and work towards.

"They also show you as well-read and extremely intelligent. You know several languages, you're an inventor, though most people know you for the Declaration still." Listening, he nodded, mulling over the basic summary of himself. She gained a smirk of her own, albeit much after his. "There's also this really funny story where apparently, at some dinner party or something you started eating a tomato like it was no big deal, because you knew from Europe that they were fine to eat, but everyone around you still believed they were poisonous, and they all scrambled to find you a doctor thinking you were basically killing yourself." As she produced the anecdote, he started to laugh, a beautiful sound. His eyes crinkled, the laughing grin stretched across his face. She got the distinct feeling he didn't laugh enough, and found herself only able to stand there and watch, smiling so warmly at the moment.

"I would do that," he agreed, calming to a smile. "May I join you? You can keep telling me about myself." This time it was she who laughed, shaking her head.

"I'm really sorry, not this time. I'm just... really not prepared to explain everything modern you'll see, and I don't mean that's a problem. I just want to get in, get what I want, and get out," she explained. A pang in her chest scolded _shame on her_ at his visible- only slightly, but there - disappointment. "But if we're still on speaking terms by tomorrow, we can go out then." As she watched him after her offer, she raised an eyebrow hopefully, but she knew better than to pin it all on that one statement. "That is unless you want to try going home again tonight and it works, this time. I know you have a lot of work I took you from-"

"I think they can manage without me for a little time," he interrupted, once again easing her with just one sentence and one look. "Just a little break. I can't deny I'm curious about the future." It wasn't an apology for his earlier behavior, but it was much closer to the calming and almost charming (no, it _was_ charming, no almost about it) persona he had taken to talk her down from panic. She would gladly take it, as well as the opportunity to spend more time with this man from the past.

"We'll talk about this when I'm back," she decided, her rear pushing off from the car, adding as she walked around to the driver's side, "otherwise I don't think I'll ever leave." She noticed a wary look in the car's general direction from Thomas, and made the mental note of yet another modern convenience to explain.

"Oh, and Thomas?" She stood poised halfway in the car, still standing, as he looked to her. "Thank you... for not giving me the silent treatment."

When she smiled, he returned it. He watched as she entered the car and shut the door. How could this get her anywhere? Was it something else witchy? Did it zoom around the fabric of time as well? The engine rumbled to life and, startled, Thomas jumped. He could see (Y/N) laughing, and he squinted, sticking out his tongue. The last he saw was her grin, as the contraption at her control backed down the driveway. His immaturity just then, and the ease of which it took place, caught up with him as the car pulled away.

For a moment, he stood there, watching the car pull out onto the road and speed away. He was truly alone there, and- as much as he still very much wanted to be angry with this young woman, for the damn principle of the thing- he found himself already wanting her to come back soon.


	3. Sassaroni and Cheese

"I took the liberty of going through your bookshelf."

The statement came scarcely a minute after (Y/N) had walked through the front door, plastic bag swishing lightly against the denim of her jeans until she was able to deposit it on the formica countertop.

"Oh?" she asked, offhandedly as she hung her key-laden lanyard on its appointed hook. "Find anything you like?"

"What is this?"

She turned, the bulk of her weight resting against the counter behind her as she looked. In his hand, Thomas held up the first of the Harry Potter books, while he looked at her expectantly.

"It's a series-"

"There are seven of them; I figured that out."

"Are you going to let me answer or be sassy with me?"

It didn't last long, but for a second there, Thomas looked surprised at her tone with him. He opened his mouth to respond, but in a moment, it was again closed, and he squinted at her while she stood there and smiled.

"That's better," she replied, a little smugness present but not too much. "They're supposed to be a children's series, so the first few are pretty simple reads, but the themes actually get pretty adult in the latter half and tackle racism, good versus evil, moral themes, set in magic-using world of London that's sort of hiding in plain sight. Mostly at a school. It's really cool."

"Ah." He looked at the cover, tongue tucked into his cheek. By all accounts, he looked unconvinced. "This magic thing- I mean you, and these books- is this... normal, now?"

"Well, there are some religious people who are very against books like that," she began, as she took the chance while he was preoccupied and put the few food items she'd needed away for now. "But is it a thing, out in the world? No. Nobody really believes in magic or witches anymore. It's just a fantasy- well, I mean, for most people, I'd say. I didn't believe anything until a couple weeks ago, but I'm still not sold on the idea of it being widespread."

"I'm not inclined to find out," he said flatly, and she smirked. This experience was undoubtedly enough magic for his lifetime.

"Fair enough," she replied and nodded in his direction. "Why don't you read it? You'll have it done by supper, I bet."

"Well, it's not Voltaire, that's for sure," he sighed dramatically. "But I guess it might do." When she shot him a look over her shoulder, his own was vaguely playful. Was he teasing her? "You have _none_ of the great minds up there, by the way. I'm disappointed in you."

Why yes, indeed, it appeared he was.

"Excuse me?" she asked, eyebrows high in surprise. "Are you judging me right now?"

"I'm only saying what I saw," he said innocently, a large shrug accompanying.

"Trying to be nice and I'm feeling so attacked." When he laughed, she huffed. "Oh go read your book," she grumbled, waving him off. "I'm going to cook so mind the kitchen."

"Do you need any assistance?" he asked, but he still kept his distance; she in the kitchen, him in its archway. "I mean, that may be redundant on my part- and I hate to admit that. I only noticed, when clearing my head outside, you have no wood. I can only assume whatever you use in modern time doesn't require it, but..." He shrugged, and a slight smile crossed his features, as he seemed to find his verbal footing again. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't at least offer to help a lady?"

"No, it's all electricity. Ben Franklin's kite came a long way. But thank you," she replied. There was real sincerity in her thanks; it wasn't often she'd known a male who readily offered to help with anything. "Don't worry about it; go read, enjoy yourself, _gentleman._ "

"Oh now who's being sassy?"

* * *

 She cleared her throat, leaning with one hand against the living room's arch entryway.

"What?"

"Supper. I've called you twice, and you just keep reading, you bookworm."

"A _worm_? Darlin', come on now, I'm better than that."

"Well if the shoe fits..."

"Do all modern women have such attitude?" he asked, finally putting down the book and standing, stretching a little.

"Not all. I guess you're just lucky," she quipped, smiling cheekily as they crossed the foyer.

"But, um... attitude aside, and even though it seems like you're giving me another chance... I wanted to make amends." She looked a little nervous as she spoke, at which Thomas cocked his head. When she seemed nervous, so far, it meant she'd done something either badly or wanted approval for it. Not that he had really paid close attention, but he was an observant man, more than people seemed to give him credit for at times all things considered. "And I feel bad, honestly, although you're doing better than I probably would at adjusting and not being crazy confused by everything. I wanted to do something that wouldn't be foreign, so... you may be happy to know that, here in 2017, people still eat macaroni and cheese." At the end, she retrieved the foil pan from the oven, turned low to just keep it warm. Not just a box mix of cheese powder, margarine, milk and noodles, oh no; as if she could possibly serve that to Thomas Jefferson, for goodness sake.

At first, Thomas didn't really do anything, and this worried her. Just at first. In truth, he was attempting to process this- that this witch, whom he had honestly quite laid into earlier, this woman with no actual reason to go out of her way to accommodate him other than courtesy and kindness... and she was doing just that. For a man out of time, thrust into her life from the distant past, and as much as he had made this about how inconvenient it was for himself, this was strange for her too. She was the one dealing with having a sudden guest, and he wasn't exactly sitting at Elizabeth Schuyler levels of goodness.

Maybe he ought to have apologized for the way he treated her. Maybe. If that was a thing that Thomas Jefferson was going to start doing, it may as well have been for something legitimate (and where there was no chance of any political rival hearing it, a nice perk).

When he finally came to his senses, although it had only been a few seconds, he noticed she looked more uneasy than ever. He smiled softly- now she seemed confused, and a smile touched on his exhale when he shook his head.

"(Y/N), you didn't have to do this for me," he said. "I was horrible towards you earlier, not at all fitting of a man of my standing or values. Some may insist I don't have any, but I'm not heartless." Eye contact was maintained as he came closer to her. The expression on his face was surprisingly gentle, especially when remarking on such a horrid moment. "We're both struggling with this change. I should have been more receptive of that. For that I apologize. May I have the honor of your forgiveness?" Alright, maybe he was milking it a little, but she was standing between him and the food of the gods themselves. He wanted to make certain there were no hard feelings left. As it was, the look on her face could only be termed as astonishment. It suited her, not the state itself but merely her. He hadn't taken time to notice the fine features of her face before, her (e/c) eyes that seemed so deep they could read a person's very soul, and if drawn into them enough probably led straight to hers.

 _Lord_ when he had become such a sap?

"Um... yes, I mean, I... I already forgave you for that," she stammered, tucking some hair behind her ear, a nervous touch if there ever was one. "But thank you for saying so." 

She smiled up at him, to which he met her with one of his own.

"Good," he replied. There was just a splash of pink across her cheeks that he picked up on, no doubt due to how close he had brought himself, and his manner of speaking to her, suddenly so much about her and less about him or only teasing her. "I'm glad- but I'd also like to eat, so can we?"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry- you got me all distracted and flustered," she admitted, shaking her head and stepping back. Now that she'd said it, that was probably his plan. Any eyerolling was kept strictly internally this time, as she opened up the fridge. "You can serve yourself- but leave some for me too! I may have made it for you but not the whole dang thing."

"Well I feel painfully misled," he chided, one hand on his chest in offense as he looked over at her, already helping himself.

"Oh hush, you," he could hear from the fridge, a little echoey and a little boxed-in. "What do you want to drink? I have water, milk, orange juice, (your favorite cola or other if not a soda drinker)... I didn't exactly plan on visitors yet while I'm still settling so there's not a lot to pick from."

"What's that last one you said?" he asked, before popping a bite (not his first, she suspected) of cheese-covered noodles into his mouth.

"Oh, right! You've never had soda... It's kind of weird to explain. Here." She offered him a can, smirking a little at his slight wince at the cold touch. "It's better cold, trust me. That's what the fridge does- that big old boxy thing. Anyway, the drink- if you don't like it, don't worry about it, I'll get a cup and finish it." While he looked somewhat skeptical, her reassurance was worth something. He figured out how to pop the tab himself- of course he did; he wasn't inventor of the swivel chair for nothing- and paused, listening to the fizzy noise from within.

"You promise this isn't some witch thing? It hissed at me; for all I know you could be giving me love potion."

"Oh _please_ ," she scoffed, giving him a look, but smiling all the same. It was hard not to, when up against his own smirk so suddenly often. "If I could make that, I'd be selling it and making my fortune, _not_ slipping it to a man I summoned 200-something years into the future by accident."

"Are you implying something about my character, Miss (Y/N)?" he teased. "Have I presented something undesirable that takes me off the proverbial table?"

"Oh shut up and take a sip," she said, an exasperated little sigh through her nose, but there was that tiniest of blushes again. Thomas grinned, but he didn't antagonize her any further. The drink was strong, the burn of carbonation new to him and strange in his mouth and down his throat. It wasn't bad, though. In fact, he took a second one shortly after.

"You'll have to get your own. This one's mine, darlin'," he decided, leaving her at the counter as he walked to the circular table and picked his seat. "By the way, I didn't say yet- this is _divine_."

"Oh stop your schmoozing."

"I'm trying to be nice!"

"Okay, okay. Thank you. I'm glad you approve," she conceded, coming to take the seat beside him. She made sure to put her can on her far side, away from his for no confusion.

"So what do you think of Harry Potter so far?" she asked between a bite. "How far have you gotten?"

"You weren't kidding when you said it's meant for children. This is a breeze, but it's nice to read anything, I suppose. I can't say I'm not interested what happens to these kids, which I have to say, I'm impressed. To get a grownass man so curious about how this ragtag trio of eleven-year-olds is going to foil this villain, who by all accounts should be dead, and the genius system the professors have set up to protect the stone? This Rowling fellow's a genius."

"Rowling's a she."

"What?" Thomas dragged the question out, long enough that (Y/N) laughed. "Really?"

"J.K. Rowling is absolutely a woman, really," she maintained. "We can do that kind of thing now. Write real books and everything. We can even _vote_ , how do you like that?"

Quiet settled upon them, as (Y/N) picked up on his frown. He wasn't sure what to think or if she was only messing with him; she knew this.

"It was rhetorical, Thomas, don't worry," she assured. "Just an expression. I'm not at all trying to start a debate on women's rights with you, not after we just went through all that mess to get on good terms with each other and I went to the trouble of this food."

 "Oh thank God," he breathed, the ghost of a laugh clinging to his tone, more relieved still when he noticed her grinning.

"What house do you think you'd be in?" she asked, tugging the conversation back to something light.

"I'd like to think Gryffindor," he admitted, "defending the common man, the farmer, fighting for freedom... but I'm probably a Ravenclaw." He said this so defeatedly. She felt her eyes roll again.

"Poor misplaced lion," she coddled. "Just too intelligent for your own good."

"I know, it's such a curse," he groaned. She tried to stifle a laugh, managing to hold it behind her smile.

"What do you think I am?" she went on, tilting her head as she took another bite of food.

"A muggle."

"Hey!"

"If you were really a witch you wouldn't have messed up so badly." He was laughing through his reason, as she hit his shoulder repeatedly with her fists, not particularly hard but enough that he moved away from her and sought to catch them. "Alright, alright!"

"Make your favorite food for you and everything and still I am met with such _sass_ ," she sighed, not at all faking her exasperation, after she had hit him enough and her arms returned to her sides.

"I guess you're just lucky," he said, smiling cheekily. It took a moment, but she remembered: the exact sentence she had said to him in regards to her own sass earlier. She could hear him chuckling as she pursed her lips and shook her head, unused to her words being turned against her.

"I had that one coming, didn't I?"

"Yes you did."

"See, maybe that's why you're a Ravenclaw," she began to muse. "You're a right smartass."

"Well at least being in Ravenclaw means I know how to read and recite a spell properly."

"Don't make me rescind my apology. I'll throw out the mac and cheese."

"That's just uncalled for. I'm half convinced you're a Slytherin, just for that alone."

"I could be. It's weird; I do have some Slytherin traits- but the book, especially the first one, doesn't really show any positives; it just paints them all as big bullies. I've... gotten used to taking care of myself and having to fight for my own well being, being in my own corner because you can't count on anyone else to always be in it for you..." She looked at what remained of her macaroni, suddenly acutely aware she had nearly opened herself up, and perhaps it was too soon to broach that, if it would ever not be too soon. "Hey, do you want some more?" she asked suddenly, standing. Thomas shrugged and surrendered his plate, tending to his soda can.

"But I also sometimes see myself as a Hufflepuff," she continued, veering back in subject a second time. "Which... also doesn't get a good showing in the early books. Great."

"The Sorting Hat sang about them all though, what was it... You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal?"

"Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil," she finished. Her second helping dished, she set her plate down. "How much do you want?"

"Uh, is all of it an option?"

"Nice try." She did give him a small heap though, quickly back in her chair and plates reassigned.

"I can see you there," he said. "In Hufflepuff."

"Really?" The curiosity in her voice was sincere as she asked.

"Sure. I mean, even though you brought forth someone from history, you meant to call a family member. You didn't want to know how someone earned their glory or anything like that, and correct me if I'm wrong: I don't think you wanted to talk to your aunt to learn how to be the cleverest witch, or the best. So that rules out three of them, and so far- even with earlier- you've been incredibly patient with me. Even when you return my sass. I may not know you well, but you seem like a very genuine, kind person, (Y/N)." He shrugged at the end of his explanation, like it was nothing, fork having dived into his macaroni and now occupied with that. She, on the other hand, could feel the warmth buzzing in her cheeks and smiled at her plate.

"Well... gosh, thanks," she replied sheepishly.

"Aww, don't know how to take a compliment, darlin'?" he asked, grinning lightly before eating again.

"Do you just call everyone that? Darlin'?"

"Well not everyone, of course not. Could you imagine me saying that to Washington?" When she burst into giggles, he felt at ease, like something was right in the world. In his world. This space, for the time being, and (Y/N). He could live with that for now. For a little while.

"Why, do you not like it?" He looked at her seriously, honestly questioning, to which she shook her head.

"I'm just not used to it, that's all. I don't mind it," she replied, then reached for her drink. "You can call me that if you want to."

"Well, it's just a habit," he backtracked, though only about a half-step: "but it does fit you nicely."

She rolled her eyes, a bashful smile aimed at her plate again, while he smirked, all smugness.

"All the history books could never prepare me for what a handful you are, I swear."

"That's me, darlin'."

"Don't push it."


	4. An Introduction to Women in the Sequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright when you finish this, you might feel like I left it hanging, and if you do I apologize, but it was getting so LONG (like all of these chapters oh my goodness) so I thought maybe let's NOT let this chapter alone turn into fic-length. I hope you understand and enjoy it regardless!

Fortune had smiled upon them, in that a spare bedroom was already set up and ready to be used before Thomas had ever arrived. Further still, it wasn't cluttered up with boxes or any kind of junk, thanks to (Y/N)'s efforts. It wasn't the ideal offering to a Secretary of State, but it was doable. Offering him the fold-out couch was simply unimaginable, and the idea of her taking it instead and giving him her bed seemed very awkward whenever her mind would so much as get near the thought. He hadn't made a fuss, and the hope was that he would continue that trend by morning.

"(Y/N)!"

Eyes cracked open at the sound, blinking blearily in the pale light that managed to filter in through pulled curtains. It had to have been early; she had learned that they didn't hold back that much light, once the sun was sufficiently up at a decent hour that normal people arose.

"(Y/N)!" The name repeated, with some knocking this time. Not a dream, then. She groaned loudly in response, an internal wish begging her to just bury herself further in the sheets and go back to sleep. At least he hadn't let himself into her bedroom. He did have some standards, although if she continued to ignore him, she wasn't so sure he wouldn't do so anyway. "(Y/N), please?"

She sighed, pushing herself up and rubbing her eyes, still fighting this sudden awake business. At least he said please. Shuffling to the bedroom door, she opened it, a few blinks in there trying to stimulate her vision further. There stood Thomas, bright eyed and not at all bothered by the time, smiling. Wonderful: a morning person.

"What?" she asked drowsily, though the shock of purple helped a bit.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," he chided. She stuck out her tongue, unamused, prompting a chuckle.

"What time is it?" Her words distorted near the end, a hand rising to cover a yawn. A hard shook of her head followed, snapping out of this.

"Not far after dawn-"

" _What_?"

"Well unless you want to waste away the morning," he said, shrugging.

"Normal people don't get up at dawn, Thomas."

"That doesn't apply because it appears I've woken a cranky dragon, not a normal person."

She sighed again, eyes closed as she attempted to center and put on a better attitude. Above all, she did not want a repeat of yesterday's fight. If he normally got up this early, then fine. Fantastic. Good for him. It was awful, but she'd deal with it.

"Alright, fine. What did you want?" she asked, tugging on the hem of her pajama tshirt before side-stepping around him somewhat to head for the stairs. "Did you eat yet?"

"I did, actually," he replied, a little pride in his voice as he followed her. "Cereal is odd, but I didn't think you'd appreciate me trying anything ambitious and accidentally setting something on fire, or me waking you just to ask you to make something."

"So you woke me up just to tell me you did?" she asked, looking back at him as they reached the bottom of the stairs and she turned into the kitchen.

"No." Thomas pouted a little at her seemingly missed point, although he had missed her early morning sarcasm. He watched her start rummaging through the fridge. "I just didn't..." _Didn't want to be alone._ "Didn't realize you need an exorbitant amount of sleep to function, sorry. You can go back if you want."

"No, I'm sorry, it's really okay," she assured, holding the bottle of milk to herself as she kept looking. "I was only kidding. I get better once I eat something, trust me. Do you want some eggs?"

"Are you saying you're going to make something anyway?"

"Well I don't plan on starving myself," she quipped in response, straightening with the carton of eggs added to her load. "I don't want cereal, and I don't have much else. And it would be rude not to include you." She stepped aside him, as Thomas watched her again, unsure of how not to and relieved she had something to focus on instead of him. The June warmth made long pants bothersome on most nights, leaving her in shorts, and he was absolutely unaccustomed to women showing so much leg. A blush burned against his tan skin as he sharply looked off to the side, away from how she bent down looking for a frying pan in the lower cupboards and away from the soft curves to her he hadn't noticed yesterday.

"I need some clothes, by the way," he said, suddenly reminded and grateful to have the thought.

"What's wrong with your clothes?" she asked, as she (thank God) stood upright and glanced his way.

"Uh, in case you haven't noticed, I didn't come prepared," he remarked dryly. "I can't just keep wearing these, and I will _not_ sit by and be a couple centuries outdated in fashion." There was a smile dancing on her lips at the way he had sunk into a soft pout over this problem, like she was trying not to laugh. "What?"

"Nothing, sorry," she said. He relaxed some, satisfied that at the very least she wasn't going to poke fun at him. It seemed a perfectly reasonable request, and she had said they'd go into town sometime today anyway. He'd hold her to that. "We'll go shopping after breakfast, okay?" As she asked her question, she rose up her tiptoes, looking for the mixing bowl she wanted in an overhead cupboard this time. Her legs stretched, muscles soft but shapely and this suited her. _Soft._ That was the word that attached itself to her in his mind. "Okay?" she asked again, suddenly back down on even ground before he knew it, and he shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts. (Y/N) had already moved back to her task at hand; if she had noticed anything, she showed no sign. He could breathe easy again.

"Yeah, fine," he replied. "Sorry, just thinking."

"Oh yeah?" The eggshells cracked, their bounty dropping into the bowl and, now leftovers, they were dropped in the sink to be thrown away later. "About what?" In truth, this was small talk, while she kept her mind awake and avoided any possibility of uncomfortable silence. 

Behind her back, Thomas rolled his eyes. About _her,_ whom he had no business thinking such thoughts over, a woman he had only known a day and half of it hadn't even been on speaking terms, spent alone. The outdoors helped him see some sense.

"This is going to sound vain, but in my time, I'm a fashionable man," he began to explain, shoving his internal diatribe forcefully aside. "You can't blame me for being apprehensive about how things might be for men now. What if it's horrible? What if it's all something Hamilton would wear?"

"I won't dress you like Hamilton, I promise," she said seriously. "Put the milk away for me, could you please?" She was handing the jug his way already as she asked, and he nodded wordlessly, taking it back to the fridge and putting it where he guessed made sense for it to be, near other bottles where a space that matched its size was open.

"Anyway it's not all bad. It's definitely changed, but I think you'll be okay," she went on, shrugging as she began to vigorously whisk the eggs and milk together. "Though... Don't get your hopes up too high; it's not going to be top of the line or really high end. You can't just use your title and hope people will cut you a deal because you're important."

"Excuse me?" He frowned at her. "What kind of man do you think I am? I pay just like everyone else. My title is an honor; I don't throw that around to get special benefits."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it as bad as it sounded, honest," she backpedaled. "And it was bad. I just meant, you know... You don't have any money here. And while I may have inherited everything Aunt Ruby had, I'm not loaded, and everything is outsourced. There aren't local tailors you can haggle with. You go to a store, the price is set, and that's it. You'll have to make due with what we can find and afford. All I'm saying."

His response was a short hum of understanding. He felt useless, watching her do all of this, never mind that he didn't want to keep watching her but there was simply nowhere else to look. At least, not at first glance. He could occupy himself with looking out the picture window, a curious relief he was grateful for. He wondered if she appreciated the beauty of the land she had so recently moved to. It held nothing to Monticello, of course, but he was ever thankful that if anyone had to accidentally bring him anywhere, it was at least somewhere with an outdoor escape.

"You wore trousers yesterday- is that acceptable now?" he asked offhandedly, leaning against the window's frame, braced with one arm.

"What, for women? Sure is," she answered. "Although... it's a pain; no matter what a woman wears, there is _always_ going to be some aspect of modern society criticizing her for it. There's no end to the hypocrisy. If she's wearing a dress or a skirt that's really long, she's a prude, she's repressed. She's missing the point of women's liberation. If it's short, or shows off her chest, or both, she's not wearing enough. She's advertising her sex and reducing herself to a sex object. If it's all too loose, she's not trying hard enough, she doesn't care, that's depressing and she ought to take more pride in herself. If it's tight, it goes back to the sex object again; she's teasing, she's asking for men to treat her like she's _only_ her body." During this, she brought the bowl to the warmed frying pan and poured in the egg and milk mixture, smiling at the sound of the hiss as it hit the surface. Occasionally she nudged the edges with a spatula, and she shook her head at the end of her tirade, sighing. "It never ends. We're supposed to show off our bodies, but we're supposed to hide them, but we're supposed to care and be proud of our appearance, but we're supposed to visually show we're more than what we look like and that equates to _not_ caring about our appearance."

Thomas's gaze had left the window somewhere during her explanation, and it had wandered back to her. The concept of women's liberation sounded bizarre to him, but as he listened, he allowed himself to think on it, to be open and not to close his mind. Time moved on, as did customs, societal standards. The world he was in presently was not his own; he needed to remember that, along with the fact that in his world, he still knew many women of impressive intellect and charisma. Did they not deserve some respect? Were they not owed some privileges denied to them purely because of patriarchal attitudes and assumptions made towards them? Part of him wished that, whenever he returned, he could inform Angelica Schuyler Church that he'd been to the far future and women could vote and their lives weren't dictated by their marriage prospects (so he assumed), without sounding like a complete lunatic. Coming back from an unexplained disappearance and talking like that, they'd cart him off in a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry," he heard her say, and he frowned, puzzled. She had removed the pan from the heat by now and fetched plates, sliding halves of the scrambled eggs onto them.

"Why?" He had to ask. He stepped away from the window and moved towards her, taking his plate when she offered it.

"I doubt the struggle of the 21st century woman is what you want to hear about," she countered, fetching two forks and, upon shutting the silverware drawer with her hip, handing him his. "Forgot to grab those earlier, sorry."

"Stop saying sorry. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Well- okay, I guess," she said, shaking her head with a lone shrug. "I just thought I might be boring you, that's all."

"(Y/N), you're letting me see little pieces of what life is like for you, when you could just shut me out and keep me at arms' length, or further. That's not boring." He looked at her, and she looked at her plate, stabbing fluffy pieces of egg. "Is it me?"

"What do you mean, is it you?" she asked, frowning as she looked up.

"Just what it sounds like," he replied with a shrug of his own. "Is it because of who I am? You don't have to worry about not being interesting compared to me."

"Wow, so humble."

"Ahh, but it got you smiling," he observed, with a smile of his own, pleased with himself. Her smile in question grew a little, and she rolled her eyes playfully before shoving another forkful of egg in her mouth.

"I mean it though," he continued. "Forget what you know about me, or think you know. Don't worry about impressing and just show me."

For a time each of them ate quietly, she mulling over his suggestion and Thomas losing himself in thoughts, slipping over and under each other like winding snakes about to tie up in knots. Why did he even care about learning more about her life? He wasn't going to be a part of it. He was only here as long as he wasn't bored and until she could successfully send him back, because he'd rather have a break from the endless stress of his political career and, admittedly, a break from seeing Hamilton's smarmy face. Responsibility pulled at him; he _should have_ been trying to return. He should have wanted to return more than he did, with the urgency of the previous day's outburst.

But he didn't.

"Okay!" She shattered the silence, yanking Thomas out of his internal debate, and pushed her chair back to stand. "I'm going to get dressed. Just put your things in the sink when you're done, don't worry." With her words came her walk to the sink, where she placed her own plate and fork. "Brush your teeth like I showed you last night, before we go," she said, looking at him with mock seriousness. Never before last night had she been more grateful to have bought a new toothbrush that came in a two-pack. "You've got plenty of time though. I have to put my face on."

This last comment came as she was already on her way out and up the stairs, leaving him to sit in confusion.

"Put her face on?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head before he set to finishing what was left of the scrambled eggs.

* * *

"Are you sure this is safe?"

"Thomas, for the hundredth time, yes." The aggravated sigh was met with a squint and a sulk.

"It hasn't been _that_ many times," he argued, a true point but hardly one that mattered to his hostess.

"Just get in and do like I do, please," she implored, the patience wearing thin in her voice the longer he stalled about the car. "Unless you'd rather stay here and become stylistically irrelevant and backward."

"Let's go," he decided abruptly, maneuvering himself to the passenger seat like he thought he remembered seeing her do the day before. Glancing at his companion, she looked rather smug, and he rolled his eyes.

"Seatbelt- this thing," she said, pulling the strap out and looking at him to make sure he was paying attention before she kept on going with it, "goes like this." She buckled her own, then watched and waited. That wasn't so hard. The fact that this strange vehicle kept its riders strapped to their seats did nothing to ease his concerns.

"You're going to be fine."

"If I die here, I will absolutely haunt you. I will demand my spirit stays here in the future to spend my afterlife reminding you that _you said_ I was going to be fine."

"I feel so privileged, truly. I do."

The engine rumbled to life. For a second Thomas gripped the armrest of the passenger side door tightly, but in a moment of pride, he swallowed and scolded himself, forcing himself to relax as (Y/N) fiddled with the handle that stuck up between their seats, and the car began to roll backwards.

* * *

 

She wasn't wearing trousers this time. She had, in fact, picked a pale blue sundress, its hem swinging above her knees and fabric spotted with daisies. He noticed this, as they walked through stores and she would casually talk, and he would listen. Listening was different for him, but he was still mildly licking his ego's wounds from the stress of his first car ride and was, for now, content to let her lead. Putting her face on, the phrase he'd wondered about after breakfast, turned out to mean applying cosmetics. He hadn't realized until then that she hadn't worn any before- and that, in turn, led him to realize he thought she was quite pretty enough without any, even while her application was soft and aimed for a natural look. Except for the black lines on her eyelids; those did not look natural, but she had drawn them subtly in a way that only added to the shape of her eyes.

Thomas liked her face much more than he cared to admit, especially her eyes.

"What about any of these?" she asked, nodding at the rack in front of them. Thomas shrugged, looking over some of the shirts.

"They're not bad."

"Thomas you've got to pick _something_. I can't keep excusing you as an actor whose luggage got lost on the plane except for your costume."

"You still haven't even told me just what a plane is-"

"That's not the point," she groaned. "Stop being-"

"(Y/N)!"

Each of them stopped and looked for the source of the voice, an excited declaration from a female.

"(Y/N), hi!" That source revealed itself as a young woman that looked about the same age, straight ginger hair shifting with each bounce of her jogging steps, hurrying towards them and enveloping (Y/N) in a tight hug. When being approached, she had seemingly frozen, but the instant the newcomer's arms wrapped her up, her body relaxed and she hugged back, smiling. A second young woman, shorter and plumper than both the first to appear and (Y/N), brown hair pulled into a ponytail, came after her. The two of them were grinning brightly. "I was hoping the first time I'd get to see you back here was you inviting us over, _finally_ -"

"Which you still haven't done," the latter added. (Y/N) had been released by this point, only to share another hug of greeting with this second friend.

"Right! And you just kept saying you wanted time to get settled and spruce the place up, and start learning those things your aunt left you," the first sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "I never saw this coming, (Y/N)."

"You've been holding out on us."

" _So_ holding out. I am shocked."

"What are you talking about?" (Y/N) asked, finally getting a word in edgewise, looking between the two of them and met with raised eyebrows. Thomas cleared his throat; she looked at him, and with wide eyes, it seemed to click. He smiled at the floor, trying not to show her he was trying not to laugh at her, but he earned himself a gentle elbow anyway.

"Yeah, that would be it," the first friend chuckled.

"So- these are my friends-"

"Excuse me, shouldn't there be a 'best' in there?"

"Best friends," she corrected, shaking her head slightly, "Sarah and Sam." She nodded to each respectively when she said their names, and silently prayed Thomas didn't decide to put on some charming show for them right there in the damn store. "And this is Thomas," she added.

"Are you her boyfriend?" asked Sam, immediately laughing at the startled sputter that popped out of (Y/N). "I had to ask! I mean, keeping us away from that big house you have all to yourself. You've been working on the house alright, _sure_ , turning it into a love nest."

"Oh my god, shut up," she whined, her cheeks growing pinker by the word.

"That's what you get for rejecting our offers and not letting us come see you," said Sarah, looking serious for a minute before, glancing at Sam, they each devolved into snickers.

"As you can see, they are the worst," (Y/N) informed Thomas.

"Oh I don't know, if that's really how you've been treating them..." Thomas mused, trailing off with a look.

"Oh!" the pair chorused.

"He's on our side!"

"I like him."

"But no, really, before we embarrass (Y/N) so much she explodes right here, what are you two up to?" Sarah asked.

"Oh my god, wait," interrupted Sam, "is he like- your familiar or something? Is that why his clothes are-"

"Sam, don't be rude, he's right here."

"Well- okay, yeah, I'm sorry," she offered to Thomas. He shrugged. These two seemed to have been informed of (Y/N)'s discovery, so it was much better than listening to her make excuses again. He glanced at his companion, who rubbed her arms; she was nervous, he knew instantly. Debating what to tell them, most likely.

"No, he's not a familiar," she said. "He's sort of, actually..." She trailed, while Sam and Sarah looked at her expectantly, almost leaning forward in anticipation of an answer. "Sort of Thomas Jefferson who showed up in my house when I tried to summon my aunt out of time but I said the words wrong and instead he came and I don't know how and I tried to send him back but it didn't work so now he's just staying with me until we can figure it out." The words tumbled out one right after another in a blurted out heap, as she offered an unconvincing smile. They blinked, glancing between the two, blinked some more, glanced some more.

"You're serious," said Sam, after a moment.

"Mhm," she hummed nodding. Thomas had begun to smirk, an expression she noticed when she glanced up at him only to get a guess if he minded her honesty or not. "Don't you start."

"I didn't say anything!"

"What do you mean 'sort of' Thomas Jefferson?" asked Sarah. "He either is, or he isn't... right? That would make sense."

"Oh, like some kind of alternate universe thing?" Sam's question came right after. "Like maybe he's Jefferson from another universe and not ours."

"No ladies, I'm the real deal," he assured, that smirk stubbornly and proudly remaining while (Y/N) rolled her eyes. "Writer of the Declaration of Independence, Ambassador to France..." He reached out to take both of their hands, offering his most charming smile, and kissed each hand with the word, "Enchanté."

"Oh my god," (Y/N) groaned.

"How long have you been here?" asked Sarah.

"Second day. (Y/N)'s been kind enough to let me into her life for now, so as long as she extends her hospitality, I'm inclined to accept it."

"Her _hospitality_ ," Sam repeated to Sarah, wiggling her eyebrows. Each of them erupted into snickering giggles.

"We're standing right here," reminded (Y/N) dryly.

"Sorry- sorry," breathed Sam, calming down from her fit.

"Oh, shoot," huffed Sarah, looking at her phone. "We have to go. We're only wasting time until my mom is ready to meet us for breakfast, and she's done sooner than expected."

"Well that does explain why I'm seeing you both so early," (Y/N) supposed with a shrug, a little laugh rippling between the three. "I'm sorry I've pushed you out lately. I'll call you later, okay?"

"You better, missy," said Sam. "You make sure she does!" Thomas nodded.

"It's been really nice to meet you, sorry we have to run off," offered Sarah, hugging (Y/N) one more time before Sam followed suit. "Bye!"

"Bye, you crazies."

"Hey, that's not nice! Make a good impression for us modern Americans, why don't you!" Sam called back as they left, (Y/N) only grinning in response.

The sudden quiet and calm left in their departure settled between the two, glancing at clothing displays around them.

"They seem nice," Thomas said, after a moment. "A little exhausting at first, but nice."

"That's them," she agreed with a chuckle. "I can't believe you pulled that though."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh you do too, Mr. Enchanté," she scoffed, smacking his arm.

"All I did was make sure I made a good impression on your friends," he defended, maintaining his innocence on the matter, though he smiled through it.

"Uh huh."

"I mean, I can charm you too if it makes you feel included, darlin'," he suggested, smirking in her direction.

"I think that's the first time you've called me that today."

"So you've been paying attention?"

"No!"

"I think you have," he continued to tease, smirk evolving into a grin.

"I have not been paying attention to your lack of darlin'-ing today. I just happened to notice it, that's all," she said, huffing.

"If you say so, darlin'."

"Can we get back to clothes, please?" she asked. He laughed at her exasperation, to which she lightly smacked his chest. "You're terrible."

He let them stand in silence, watching her shift through shirts on the rack. Mostly her, rather than the act. Maybe it wasn't so gentlemanly of him to enjoy pushing her so much, but truthfully he couldn't help himself. Her reactions were real, not hidden away from him or something put together for an image to project. She didn't want to open up about herself too much; he could tell this much, so pushing the buttons he found, getting her riled up, coaxed her personality to shine through- and it did shine. Somehow he wasn't convinced that this was something she knew.

"You don't mean that," he said, nudging into her.

"I might."

"Uh huh."

It took a little bit of time, but she nudged him back, her silent confirmation that she probably didn't mean it.

 


	5. A Lesson in Humility

The addition of Sarah and Sam into the unlikely duo's lives was unexpectedly a godsend, although not both of them saw it that way. (Y/N) was grateful for the ability to have the two to ask to come see him throughout the day as the weekend faded and the dawn of another working week loomed ahead. It wasn't that she didn't trust him to take care of himself, but so that he wouldn't be alone all day, have someone to talk to instead of just books and channel surfing now that she'd shown him how to work the television. Thomas, however, was incredibly stubborn and borderline sulky about the idea, maintaining he didn't need anyone to drive out there to check on him. He was- and (Y/N) would finish the sentence with him, when he'd bring it up- Secretary of State, hardly a child in need of a watchful eye.

Sarah stopped by on Monday for a few hours, more than happy to get to know him and do this favor. She was suitably fascinated and let him talk as much as he wanted about his accomplishments in history. (Y/N) arrived home to a preened ego, and he was rather pleased with himself. Suddenly the check-up didn't seem so bad after all, and he was happy to spend time with her friends, if that made her happy. The choice of reasoning made her roll her eyes, but if that was what it took to get him to stop arguing about it, then fancy that.

She most definitely owed Sarah something, she decided then and there.

On Tuesday, Sam visited, and her car was still in the driveway when (Y/N) arrived home. Unlike Sarah, Sam was _not_ all particularly interested in what he had to say about himself. What interested her was how he was adjusting to modern life, what he had learned so far, what he liked to do, what in the house he didn't know how to use yet but wanted to- whether (Y/N) advised it or not, because the way Sam saw it, as long as he was living there too, he ought to have known how to use things. It seemed only decent.

Both of them visited on Wednesday.

Even with the sudden company of two other young women, it was not at all as if the relationship between (Y/N) and Thomas suffered in any way. In the mornings before she left and in the evenings when she came home, they'd fall right into their normal conversational tactics, taking jabs at each other meant in complete jest and friendly affection (though neither would give it such a term, if confronted with it) and occasionally having serious discussions, and the more occasionally not so serious but nonetheless talks unladen with sassy attacks on the other.

He asked her about her witchcraft, relieved she wasn't in league with a devil and thereby doomed for eternity. Although frankly she knew little about it herself yet, it wasn't evil, and in fact the majority of the spells she found in any of the books were meant to help in some way, never harm. Quietly, he couldn't see her purposefully harming anyone. She had too kind a heart for that. It wasn't a trait she showed much intentionally, but sometimes he swore he could see it glow in her as she went about the day in front of him.

She asked him about himself, a firsthand account of his travels and experiences and what life was like in his time. They didn't always agree- but he liked it. She didn't become a bobbing head towards him, going with his opinions for the sake of being agreeable and appealing to him. If she had something to say, she said it; they were at this level now, and he couldn't deny it was refreshing, and it made him less homesick- though the pangs didn't hit as often as perhaps they should have, to begin with- to remember if he wanted some banter, all he had to do was go find and bother her.

She always asked, when she came home, if he'd read more Harry Potter, and they'd talk about where he was in the story. There were films made of them, she told him once, but she refused to let him see until he finished reading. "You'll see why" is all she would tell him.

Sarah taught him how to run the dishwasher. Housework was _not_ something he was readily willing to perform himself, but he knew it was fair, whether he wanted to admit to it or not. It was only the two of them, and it wasn't right to expect her to do everything. The thought surprised him. Once upon a time he might have shrugged and let the work fall to her, because she was the woman and who else was going to do it, in a house without slaves or servants? That time wasn't truly so long ago, stirring up the realization that perhaps this world was changing him. For the better or the worse, he wasn't sure.

But when he told her what he learned, more excitedly than he wanted to, and she looked so surprised but smiled so wide, and thanked him for helping- Thomas felt fairly certain it was for the better.

Sam helped him with kitchen appliances. It did aggravate him, almost on a level of embarrassment, to need so much help for what seemed so simple for them- but the two were quick to remind him that _everyone_ had to start just where he was, at the beginning, and Sarah was even quicker to share a story of when Sam somehow managed to bungle baking what they called tater tots so badly that they did not burn, but they were done so far that it was as if the potato filling had somehow evaporated and left only a crispy shell. Sarah claimed there were more tales where that came from, but that she was sworn to secrecy and as a best friend she couldn't possibly break her vow.

It was Wednesday evening when (Y/N) came home to the surprise of not having to cook, thanks to a bright idea from Sam in spite of her past cooking mistakes.

The thought had never crossed her mind. It wasn't that she didn't think that he would, necessarily, or didn't think he could. It simply hadn't, and that was the end. She was so used to having to cook for herself and being alone that it hadn't once registered that just maybe, she didn't have to take it upon herself to do it every single time anyone ate in the house. In fact, the thought of what _she_ would scrounge up was playing in her head as she let herself inside.

"Thomas, I'm-" she paused, as she scent of something baking- something with spices, maybe?- caught up with her, wafting along. "Home..." The word was almost inflected, as she aimed herself for the kitchen, more purpose in her step as one of the oven's varying beeps sliced through the ambient calm. There had been no cars in the driveway, and she knew for a regrettable fact that the pizza places did not deliver as far out as the house sat. That left the option of Thomas trying to cook something. The pizza delivery would have been a more expected option than that, but her eyes had seen much stranger things as of late than Thomas nudging the oven door back up and closed with his leg. She wasn't sure he'd heard her announce herself, and standing just inside the kitchen, his back to her, she decided to keep quiet and watch him, waiting for him to notice her- which didn't take long, now that whatever he'd taken on was out.

She could just make out the jump in his muscles, and she somehow managed to hold her snicker inside.

"Has anyone ever told you not to sneak up on people?" he asked, rolling his eyes, but when she grinned, he smiled; she could see it, whether meant or not.

"I may have been told that once or twice," she mused, hanging up her keys and looking over to him. "What, uh... What's all this?" At her question, he appeared almost nervous, and he stepped back, not hiding the pizza. She suspected that had never been his intent; she'd only caught him just turning away from it.

"Sam was here earlier," he started, "and... I may have mentioned something along the lines of maybe wanting to do something for you, because it seems like you're always doing everything, and I may be used to having servants do the work but you are _not_ help, you are..." He sighed. "That sounds awful."

"You wanted to help me," she finished for him, standing in front of the oven and the pizza and, for a second, marveling at the gesture- and, for another second following, unsure of why she'd react in such a way. Thomas was used to not having to lift a hand domestically, to not having to help anyone, and the chances were that when he did help someone it was not at all in the domestic range. Almost a guaranteed no on that one, but there they were.

"Yes," he simply agreed, letting her keep the task of saying the important things that he wasn't ready to admit he did or felt for anyone. "Sam thought of it. She said it's called pizza, and you'd love it." He watched her, and the longer she didn't really do anything and just stood there in thought, staring at his creation, the more nervous he grew, clasping his hands behind his back. "She even bought paper plates so we wouldn't have to clean," he added hopefully.

He would never admit so, even to himself, but he was craving her approval on this, his first attempt at something actually productive there for the both of them and not just being able to pick up after himself.

"I do love it," she said finally, and although the shaking of her head made him initially frown in confusion and lingering concern, when she looked up at him, her face had broken out in a grin, and she was laughing. The sirens themselves couldn't have made a more pleasing sound, nor looked more beautiful.

In contrast, Thomas couldn't have felt more suddenly at odds with himself, and while he pushed such thoughts aside with as much might as his mind could summon up, he allowed himself a proud smile. She loved the pizza. The pizza that he made, _his_ pizza. Hamilton could suck it (not that he even knew about this or what pizza was, but still, he could).

"Well I'm glad," he replied smoothly, letting his hands and arms relax now that he knew she approved. She was on the move, sifting through the silverware drawer and returning with a curious rounded knife, which she took to the pizza, slicing it up in triangles. "The damage to my pride otherwise would have been dire. I might have never recovered. I'd never be the same man again, and it would've been your fault."

"Has anyone ever told you not to be so dramatic?"

"I may have been told that once or twice."

"Stealing my lines," she tutted, shaking her head, a grin settled on her face as she claimed two pieces for herself and stepped aside, one hand holding her food and the other pulling the fridge door open. "You use up all yours in the Declaration?"

"You think you're just so clever, don't you?"

"I do, in fact," she was quick to reply. "Do you want soda?"

"Please."

Two cans manipulated into one hand's grip, she straightened and looked behind her at the table, her lower lip pinned in her teeth as she thought, one of her many habits Thomas had noticed and would neglect to comment on. He did look at her though, raising a brow in silent questioning.

"We can eat in the living room if you want," she offered. "I know I've been pretty picky about it, but pizza is pretty chill."

He looked down at his food. When his palm was flat under the plate, there was quite a bit of heat.

"Chill isn't what you really mean, is it?" he asked flatly. He shot her a look at her not so successfully withheld sound of amusement, some kind of bastardized mix of a snicker and a giggle.

"Sorry," she offered up, making herself be a little composed. "It's a lazy meal, I guess is what I mean. We can watch tv."

"Can we play that car game?"

She had not expected this question, stopping in mid-walk across the foyer and looking back at him.

"The car game?" she questioned, walking backwards for a few steps before she had to turn forward and avoid walking straight into the back of a couch, or something else of about equally disastrous effect, but even with her curious surprise, a smirk slipped over her lips before she could turn away again. "I'm so proud, you're not scared of cars anymore."

"That was just the one ride," he corrected, unamused. "I watched your friends play, what did they call it... Mario?" he asked, as he claimed his space on the couch he had learned was the main feature of the room.

"Oh, sure!" Her bright reply had him more relieved than he cared to admit- a thing that he was irritated kept happening- that he got it right. When it had started he hadn't the slightest idea, but at some point in the course of the week, getting things right about this world around her began to matter to him. "We can totally play Mario Kart." As she spoke, she had already set their drinks and her food down on the coffee table and had gone to the television's stand, turning on whatever it was they needed and grabbing the controls.

"Whenever I do go back," he mumbled over a particularly cheesy bite of pizza, "there is definitely some food I'm going to miss."

"Pizza is glorious, right?"

"I don't know if I'd go that far, but it _is_ delicious."

A moment of quiet descended upon them while the game system booted up and she waited to set things in motion, and the two of them ate, occasionally taking drinks. In truth, she had almost forgotten- or maybe she wanted to forget, so she let herself get carried away with whatever this thing was- that sooner or later, she really should start looking for the right spell, if her counter spell still wouldn't work. The idea of going back to living alone, of _being_ alone, all over again let the faintest trace of sadness start to try and creep in.

She shook her head harshly- earning herself a confused look- and made the decision then and there that she refused to let that feeling in. Even if it meant avoiding responsibilities, if she could just have him for a little bit longer.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I had an extra spicy pepperoni," she covered. The game's main menu screen had appeared by now, and she sat up more attentively, exchanging her pizza for her controller. "Did they let you play?"

"Enough I learned the controls," he replied, doing the same.

"I'm not going to go easy on you just because you're not from around here," she cautioned. He squinted in her direction, alternately wanting to keep provoking that damn smirk out of her and wanting her to eat her words. This was a very confusing time for Thomas, as if the duration of his stay hadn't been full of said moments.

"Whatever, future girl."

"Oh, what was that?" she asked, laughing a little. "Future girl? It's on now, past boy."

* * *

"You are _cheating_!"

"And throwing your hand in my face wasn't!?"

"Get your fucking hair out of my face!"

"Such language! You don't deserve to win with a mouth like that!"

The competition was fierce. Thomas was better at the game, after a couple of races, than she had anticipated, and he was delighting in giving her fits. Certain tactics had to be adopted, as happened in any other Mario Kart game anyone ever played. The two of them had polished off the pizza, along with a couple additional drinks. The only thing remaining was the ultimate title of Mario Kart champion under this roof.

She gasped, every bit of drama in it completely necessary, a cleverly dropped attack sending her out of her leading spot. If he hadn't laughed enough in the course of this game, Thomas laughed even harder now, not daring to take a full look at her face but the view of her shock from the corner of his eye was wonderful.

"You come into _my house_..." She carried on her act of offense as she sought to reclaim her potential victory. Their banter slipped to quiet concentration, occasional little quips of "come on" or "no no no" flitting in and out.

But every race must have a winner.

"YES!"

Thomas looked at the floor, his controller held in utmost defeat. (Y/N) had shot off the couch in an instant, repeating her solitary word as she hopped in place, almost twirling, laughing and carrying on.

"In your face, past boy!"

Thomas groaned, chancing a look at her. It was impossible not to at least crack a smile when she grinned like that, even when her joy was at his loss.

"Such a gracious winner."

"Hey now, you _almost_ won a few times," she teased.

"Correction, I _did_ win a few times."

"But not as many as me," was her cheeky reply, the vowel of her last word elongated until she giggled.

She was so damn _happy_ , and her gloating was intolerable and her smile was like sunshine, and Thomas hated every bit of it, in that peculiar way that involved not really hating any of it at all. He could still try to convince himself of it and maintain some dignity.

Then again, there was no one here but (Y/N) to see if he let that slide for just one time.

"You think you're really somethin', don't you, darlin'?" he asked her, sounding vaguely unimpressed, placing his controller on the table. "The big bad Mario Kart champion, real hot stuff."

"I do," she agreed, playing along, finding it a joke as she stretched like the champion she was. "The biggest, baddest, hottest stuff. You can be Secretary of State but you will never take Mario Kart-"

"Oh you'll eat those words in a minute," he all but growled, giving her scarcely a moment to look back at him before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down, his arched fingers poking and prodding at her sides. The squeals that flowed right out of her instantly left him laughing with her, a sound he had never imagined yet she could make. He fought to keep his hold on her while she writhed and tried to pry his arms away, but it was difficult to focus on a direct action; swatting and smacking his arms was a more accurate description.

"T-thomas!" she squawked, managing only his name between gales of laughter. His fingers played her like a piano, finding her spots, composing with her squeals and squeaks and cackling.

"Something's funny, huh?"

"No!" she sputtered. It was unclear if she was responding to his teasing question or simply protesting.

"The biggest, baddest, hottest stuff," he reminded her. His arms adjusted and held her close and tight, one hand's fingers still dancing over her side while the other began to roam, exploring the soft curve of her stomach.

"No, no!" she tried, but her words were drowned out by her endless stream of frenzied, stomach-hurting laughs and giggles.

"You don't seem so tough right now, champion."

The pitch and volume of the squeal that came out of her when his index finger swirled into her navel momentarily shocked him into a pause. It was almost as if it acted as a power button, as she slumped against him, like her body had suddenly been taken out from her and all she could do was lay on him and cackle, wheezing for breath.

He almost let that be the end.

"Can you do that again for me?" he asked, grinning wickedly as he went back.

"THOMAS!" she shrieked, writhing with renewed vigor. Her legs tried to take little steps and pull her down, as though maybe she could just slip out from under his arms. He shifted with her in his grasp, able to peer at her face.

"You know, I had planned on making you say you're the cutest little girl, _not_ the biggest baddest anything," he commented, so casually, "but that seems a little mean-"

"I'mthecutestlittlegirl!" she spat out in one breath, gasping air back in while she had a slim chance before the laughter overtook her again. "Please!" she squeaked, while he lazily drew his finger around and around just outside her navel. "Pleasedon't!"

"I won't, darlin'," he said, and he meant it. The hold he had on her ceased any attack, only gripping her still so she didn't just liquify right into a heap on the floor. She was still giggling hard, almost like she'd built a up a surplus and had to let them all bubble out of her. The hand that had taken to her stomach withdrew, softly stroking her hair back out of her face as she leaned into him and wheezed for breath.

"That... was mean," she accused, unable to shake the soft grin yet so not even trying to shoot him a look.

"That was teaching you a lesson in humility," he countered, smiling behind her.

"You sure you're qualified to teach that?"

"I haven't let go of you yet, you better watch your sass!"

"Okay, okay!" she whined. She managed to take a deep breath without giggling.

It took longer for both of them to realize she was still effectively sitting on his lap, and almost at the same time, his arms abruptly released and she scrambled off- gracefully tumbling over her legs and landing on her behind on the floor, laughing for a new reason. The distraction played in their favor, replacing the sudden awkwardness.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured, fanning her face for a second as she made herself stop laughing yet again. "My stomach hurts so bad, oh my god," she whined.

"I'm not sorry."

"You could have just been a decent person and said you were anyway."

"Why? That was adorable- ow!"

While still down there, she had smacked his leg, the closest part she could reach, the only willful acknowledgment she gave his words, but her cheeks were warm with blush and not merely lingering from the sudden workout she was coming down from. For a moment they just sat, not looking at each other, just content in the quiet that had filtered in.

Just plain content to sit there and not needing to talk.

"Well- I still need to do things," she excused after a minute, using the couch to pull herself up to standing. Her nightly routine included her shower, and a touch of winding down time alone in her room. Thomas nodded softly, he too coming back to the real world from reverie. She put their grease-spotted paper plates together and, on them, began to put the empty cans, until Thomas waved her hand away.

"I've got it, don't worry," he said. She looked at him for a moment as she straightened up, and he stood, stretching, not noticing the subtle way she looked at him.

"Okay," she conceded, smiling softly. "Well. If I don't see you, goodnight, Thomas."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)."

He didn't watch her as she got a head start on him, while he snatched up their clutter and directed himself to the kitchen to throw it away. Mario Kart would need turned off; he wasn't certain of what exactly to do, but he knew the basic power symbols. He could certainly figure it out, and walked back to the living room, grabbed the controllers and stashed them in their place. The right buttons were located quickly, and he ambled to the couch, sitting, one hand running the one time through his hair as his gaze began memorizing the woodgrain of the table.


	6. Sherlock Hamilton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this takes a detour from our normally scheduled sass fest, but I mean, I had to address what's happening back in the his day. Please excuse Alexander while he blows a fuse.

_Jefferson being absent does not give you an automatic win, Alexander._

One would think that the sudden disappearance of Thomas Jefferson would make Alexander Hamilton's day. There was no sight of his smug face, none of his ridiculous arguments against what the country clearly needed, not one glimpse of his gaudy purple- and he said Alexander dressed like fake royalty, _ha!_ It wasn't that Alexander had no concern, as the chances of Jefferson willingly not showing up for a chance to verbally beat him down in front of an audience, or anything in front of an audience, were highly unlikely. It was just absurd.

It had been Washington to tell him first, having received an urgent message direct from Monticello where Thomas had, by all accounts, simply vanished without a trace. It was not an incident on the road; all whom could verify at Monticello insisted he had never left, and they had every carriage that could have possibly been on the grounds present and accounted for. No one could confirm that he _hadn't_ for some reason left on his own volition, without alerting anyone or using his own carriage or horses, but why would he? In spite of his clashes with his fellow Secretary, Thomas Jefferson loved his work, and he would never run away from it. Anyone who knew him knew that much.

Washington did not wish to spread alarm or political insecurity, so the news was spread slowly, only to those whom particularly needed to know, at least through the Capitol. It was a national tragedy according to the entire state of Virginia. The longer he was missing, the more it became the talk on every soul's tongue. It became impossible to get anything done. It wasn't fair, Jefferson's deserted associates would whine, to continue political business that ought to have been fairly debated by both sides, and whom was going to do that in his place? If the President's cabinet was going to continue to make national decisions, then someone needed to be temporarily appointed in his place. It was only fair, otherwise Hamilton stood unopposed, and that just defeated their democratic purpose. While Alexander sputtered at their ludicrous notions of fairness- _who was the South to talk about fairness?_ \- Washington was, unfortunately, inclined to see their point.

There was nothing he could do until a substitute Secretary of State was named, and he could only guess how long that mess was going to take.

Frankly, Alexander was more tired of Jefferson being gone than he was when he was present, and he wasn't convinced this whole thing wasn't some elaborate and remarkably impudent hoax. The reasons being were debatable and probably outlandish, but the fact of the matter was that it just made no sense for a person to disappear into thin air. He had to be _somewhere_ , for some reason, and whatever it was, Alexander was going to find out and bring him back to Congress and give him a piece of his mind for causing such an irresponsible, selfish, ill-conceived ruckus wherever the news had spread, and how _dare_ he impede the passing of important pieces of legislature? The future of America was vastly more important than making sure he was what people were talking about.

Insufferable, pompous, purple-wearing, Democratic Republican know-it-all. He probably knew every bit of this was happening and loved knowing he was the center of attention even "missing."

"I have to find Jefferson," he declared, as he burst into the sitting room of the home he shared with Eliza and their youngest children on the rare occasions she would visit him in Virginia. Eliza looked up from her needlepoint, watching her husband pace. She knew this agitation. She also knew exactly what he was referring to, and under a look of calm, she was completely baffled.

"You?" she asked, turning so she could continue to watch him move around the room. "Don't you hate the man?"

" _Exactly_ ," he said, pointing, as he stopped and looked at her. **"** This man is blatantly disrespecting everything we've worked to build. He's disrespecting America and making a mockery out of politics by making everything about him, and he's not even here! No, Eliza, I refuse to sit by and listen to the public blather on about poor, missing Thomas Jefferson, where could he be? When _I_ find him-"

"And you will, I'm sure, dear," Eliza interjected passively, listening to his impassioned decision while she returned to her project.

" _-_ And I _will_ ," he either repeated or agreed; it was rather unclear which, "I'll bring him straight back to Washington and make him answer for this heresy!"

"Heresy? Don't you think perhaps that's a little strong?"

"He's only trying to distract Congress so we can't put anything through, and when he comes back on his own everyone will be so damn happy to see him they'll be ingratiated to him, like his reappearance is a _favor_ and they'll vote his way for anything!"

"Alexander?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Do you truly believe he's done this on purpose?" she asked. "That the man would truly through our fledgling nation into such a tizzy, for- for what? What is it you think he's after, attention?"

"I don't know, Eliza, frankly I don't want to know how his mind works. If I venture there I might start to grow a fondness for magenta," he groaned. Eliza wasn't sure if she expected a more direct answer than what she received. She sighed, looking at the embroidery in her hands as she debated any further points. There was no talking her husband out of this, and she wasn't really planning on trying it. He had already without question thrown himself into this quest to bring Jefferson back and explain this mess. There was really no turning him around, at this point.

"Please be careful," she ventured only.

"I will, Eliza," he replied solemnly. " _I_ won't abuse your feelings nor those of our nation's citizens, unlike _some_ people."

In the same frenzy he rushed in on, he was gone, leaving her to wonder how exactly Alexander planned on accomplishing this feat.


	7. Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, over 100 hits now. I just... wow, thank you. Thank you so much for reading my nonsense. Every kudos and comment and higher hit count gives me life, honestly.
> 
> So um this is filled with sad background, but... heeeey now he knows things about her (sorry I gave you a shitty life) and THIS BUILDS CLOSENESS ALRIGHT GO WITH IT. It'll pay off.

He had only caught her crying once, but he suspected the act was more than just an isolated incident.

Sleep didn't always come so easy to him. As much as he had made himself at home here, this still wasn't _his_ home, and he missed it. He missed being important, as selfish as it sounded. He missed James. He still didn't miss Alexander; teasing (Y/N) had taken the place of riling up his pipsqueak rival. He missed feeling in control of his life and his emotions, more or less. He'd lay there at night when these spells of sleeplessness would come to him, until eventually his mind would think itself out and he'd sleep just because there was nothing else left. The stillness of night became his friend.

That stillness was what let him hear her, when the soft creak of her bedroom door caught his attention and he heard her padding along- shaking breaths, trying to still and muffle herself. Thomas did not sleep with the door closed; while he was used to the heat of early summer, the Virginian that he was, he found his room here too stuffy and insulated when he kept it closed. So he heard her. He could hear the slight grunt of stair steps adjusting to weight, but from there the sounds waned.

It would eat at him, later on, that he did not go to her. He froze, as much as the want to get up and follow her all but screamed at him. She didn't want him to know her hardships, whatever they were. She had made every effort to avoid revealing anything very personal about herself, which at first had privately offended him. It had soon dawned on him, however, that it was not for lack of trust in him. (Y/N) simply had become an expert at avoiding conversations about her life, and he was no exception.

He laid there, knowing she was hurting for whatever reason, unable to get her soft ghost of a sound out of his mind. The idea of her being hurt let a stinging ache creep over him, but he did nothing. She didn't want to tell him, and he didn't want to push her when she was already in a vulnerable place. That wasn't necessarily a place where he was welcome yet- if there would ever be a yet. None of this should have been a place for him to begin with, not unless they were giving credence to the scientific acceptability of magic spells and time travel and these things being a credible support of certain events being meant to happen. That was ridiculous.

He hated himself a little for that night.

"She won't tell me about her life," he brought up to Sarah and Sam, finding their presences yet again on a Friday afternoon. (Y/N)'s schedule was such that every other Friday, she was off work, and so she had determined to use the day to tackle the yard. Sam had laughed at her figuring out the riding lawn mower, earning her a friendly middle finger, to which she only laughed more.

She did look a little silly, but this was her property and she was absolutely not going to needlessly spend money to hire some man to come do it when she could do it perfectly well, provided the old mower didn't give out. Why Aunt Ruby had this, she had no idea; the woman in her old age certainly hadn't used it. Maybe she had hired someone and provided the tools- either way, it was hers now, and either way, it kept her out of the house and enabled Thomas to pry.

He didn't feel very pleased with himself, going behind her back to find out what she wouldn't say, but it came from the right place, didn't it? He wanted to know if he could help her in any way, as only a friend would react, right?

The girls had hesitated and looked at each other for long enough to qualify as more than just a glance.

"(Y/N)'s... had a rough life," Sarah said, uncertainty still heavy on her as she fiddled with the crazy straw (Thomas insisted they buy them one day) in her drink and looked at it. Sam was shifting a ball of air from one cheek to the other.

"Look, she doesn't tell people what's bothering her or about her problems because she doesn't want people to feel sorry for her. She has a history of worrying they're only acting like they like her because they feel bad for her, and then she just starts questioning her friendships and stressing herself out, and it's just bad," Sam cautioned. "I'm not at all surprised she hasn't said anything. She probably won't. You're her guest, man. She doesn't want to bog down your time here with her backstory or whatever."

"She tries really hard to be happy for everyone," added Sarah. "(Y/N) could get shot and she'd still do a favor for you before going to the hospital."

"That's ridiculous," said Thomas."

"That's (Y/N)," said Sam. There was a pause, each of them debating inside of what exactly to say next.

"Why do you ask?" Sarah asked, a little slowly. A little warily, if Thomas was not mistaken. For a second, he was reluctant to answer. The two women were her best friends, and the importance of the three to each other had been demonstrated clearly since he'd known them all, but even so, this had been a private moment for her. He felt like such a gossip- but he'd come this far now, and he shrugged in his unease, his arms folding across his chest.

"I heard her crying the other night," he answered in a sigh. "I couldn't sleep, I keep the door open because it's too hot, so when she got up I could hear her, and you know the sound when someone's trying not to cry, trying to be quiet and make themselves be okay?" Sam groaned quietly somewhere during his question, a nod in there too, and Sarah looked off to the side. They knew that sound. "I didn't know what to do for her. I wanted to, but I just- I couldn't encroach on her like that. She went downstairs, and I felt like if I went to her, she'd just be embarrassed and convinced she woke me up, no matter how much I'd say she didn't."

"She would," agreed Sam, shaking her head. "That's rough. So you thought you'd ask us what it could be, then?"

"Yes," he answered, a little slowly, a little nervous they'd reject his intentions. He was ready to defend them if necessary. From the silence that met him, he wasn't so sure he wouldn't have to.

"I really think you should ask her," admitted Sarah, looking between the two. "I mean... Maybe she'll surprise us."

"Honestly I think you've been really good for her, Thomas," Sam confided, looking to him straight on. "She really likes you."

"But don't get cocky," prompted Sarah, smiling.

"So what you're saying is you're not going to tell me anything."

"Not our place."

"Thanks a lot."

"Seriously though, she might open up to you if you just ask her," encouraged Sarah. "I mean, she bought you purple sheets, didn't she? Buying you your own bedsheets like you belong here."

"And purple sunglasses," added Sam.

"You rearranged her books and she didn't bat an eye."

"Sometimes your jokes aren't that funny but she laughs anyway."

"Excuse me?" Thomas interjected.

"Have you heard her singing in the shower?"

"What?" he asked, visibly confused.

"When she goes upstairs to shower- have you ever heard her singing?"

"Oh, um..." He frowned, but he thought about it. In truth he tried to avoid the upstairs when she went to bathe, the best way to avoid any thoughts of what was going on- but it came to him suddenly, a blossomed memory he'd tucked away when he slunk around like a cat trying to catch more of her voice. He smiled softly, not entirely aware. "I have, actually."

"Have you seen her wear a face mask?"

"A what now?"

"Not like, a literal mask, but has she ever walked around the house with this stuff on her face to dry and after a bit she'll go wash it off? Don't look so concerned; it's just skin care, not something weird."

"I... yeah, I think so."

"Okay, a gal doesn't do those things around just anyone," Sam began to clarify.

"In her case, especially the bookshelf. I'm honestly impressed," Sarah added.

"Right? I can't even do that without her getting pissy."

"So this means what, exactly?" Thomas asked, an attempt to redirect them back to the point before Sam could drag them on an offshoot.

"It means, as far as we can tell, she's super comfortable with you," Sarah explained. "If you ask her right-"

"Which means don't be dumb and just spring it on her, have some tact-"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he grumbled beneath their commentary.

"She might kind of retreat inward a little, get shy, but I think she'll tell you. I really do."

"Me too."

"Me too what?"

The trio jumped at the fourth voice's entry. It was quickly self-assured that (Y/N) had only heard this final point, seemingly much more concerned with making sure she wasn't trailing grass behind her at first, before she joined them in the kitchen.

"How'd you do?" asked Sam. The hope was that she wouldn't ask further about whatever she'd walked in on. For now, she groaned in the fridge; when she straightened, one of her trusty bottles of cold water was in her hand.

"Not awful. Starting to get feeling in my butt again," she replied, shrugging as she unscrewed the cap. Her eyes closed and she looked the picture of relief as she took a long drink.

"Thomas can help you with that," Sam snuck in. (Y/N) coughed on her water, and Sam dissolved into laughter at Thomas's horrorstruck face while Sarah hid her giggling behind her hand respectfully.

"You suck," (Y/N) said pointedly.

"It was worth it though."

"I'm sure it was. What was me too about?" If she noticed the glance all three shared, she showed no response. She had returned to her water, so it was likely she didn't.

"Actually you came in right on time, darlin'," Thomas began, an easy smile on his face while his partners in conversational crime looked at him curiously. "It occurred to us that you've worked so hard today already- that whole yard by yourself, for hours? You deserve something nice." His gaze flickered to Sarah and Sam.

"So we thought maybe we could have a picnic tonight," Sarah picked up smoothly. "You know- easy summer food, hot dogs, chips-"

"Mac and cheese."

"How is that summer food?" asked Sam, even as Sarah nodded and went with it, and Thomas looked pleased with himself.

"Lemonade, throw some kind of dessert together maybe. It's supposed to stay nice into the evening. We were all just agreeing on the idea when you came in."

(Y/N) looked at them quietly, and for a time, they weren't sure if their cover story had been successful, but they relaxed- at least internally- when she grinned.

"That sounds really fun," she agreed as well. "Let's do it."

"Great!" Sarah cheered, shooting a relieved look to Sam and Thomas. She quickly finished the bit that was left in her cup and stood, bringing it to the sink. "I need to run by the bank before it gets too late, so Sam and I can go pick things up."

"Why am I volunteered for this?" Sam whined.

"Because two heads are better than one," Sarah quipped, grabbing her keys off the normally open-for-spares hook beside (Y/N)'s.

"Fine," though the whining tone had increased to something dramatic now, as she stood and trudged after Sarah. "See you guys later."

"We'll text you before we leave the store just to make sure we have everything," Sarah called before the door closed behind them, leaving Thomas and (Y/N) to themselves. She chuckled softly, grinning as she shook her head.

"They're here so much you'd think all three of you moved in," she mused, as she tossed her empty bottle to the recycling bin, and Thomas lightly grinned.

"They mean well though," he replied. "They're sweet. They really care about you, you know?" He was worried he had said the wrong thing when she didn't respond right away, only smiling quietly at the floor until she nodded and looked up, the smile still in place and not, as he had suspected possible, insincere. If she was going to put guards up, she hadn't done so yet.

"Yeah, they do," she agreed softly, as she leaned back on the cool surface of the fridge; her eyes closed for a second at the touch. "They've been with me through a lot." Even softer. Thomas didn't push. He let her see him, with absolute intent to keep his face open and honest towards her. When he smiled, it was small, matching the way he voice had regressed on her just then. Everythng had to be small. Anything larger might scare her away.

She was looking at him too, a little less open, a flower looking for the morning sun to open up into. He didn't look away- neither did she. He could only hope to be that sun.

"You might have figured this out but I don't have a lot of friends," she offered, after this moment of undetermined length simply looking at each other. He was disappointed when she veered her gaze down, but still, he didn't move her. He didn't get up, he didn't say anything, he just sat. This moment belonged to her. "It's been hard to make them. I don't know why. I try really hard... Well anyway- I've known them for... gosh, half my life? I'm twenty-six now, so... Yeah, thirteen years. Wow," she laughed faintly under the fact. Thomas's smile grew slightly.

"We went to high school together, and we all came here for university... But I dropped out after a couple of years," she ventured on. There was a conscious and clear effort made on her part to not look down, but she still did not look at him. He saw her lips purse inward, no doubt biting them, the way he knew she did. Her face was pink, but not from a flattered embarrassment this time. He hadn't seen her embarrassed and uncomfortable, not really, even in their first meeting.

"Why?" he asked softly, pulling her back to him out of her jumbled barrage of thoughts. She looked at him, blinking a few times, and at first she didn't speak further. Another round of quiet staring, but this one lasted much less.

"My... My sister was very disabled, growing up. She couldn't really communicate, and she was very... I don't know what they'd call it back then," she sighed. "There was no way she would ever be able to take care of herself, basically. She needed constant supervision, and it was just her, me, and our mother... I never knew my father. And he's never made any effort to know me, either."

This was slightly more than he had bargained for, when he had begun to hope she might tell him anything about her, but now that she was, he hung on to every word. The flower was slowly starting to uncurl its tight petals.

"I had this ongoing fight with my mother about going away for university, the whole year leading up to it," she kept going. "She _did not_ want me to leave. She wanted me to go somewhere in driving distance, some community college where I could stay home. She'd always say it was because I wasn't ready to be on my own, but... she just wanted me to stay there with her. So she wasn't alone with my sister. We had her on lists for communities for people like her, where there's trained professionals to take care of them, and their families don't have to worry- but there were waitings lists on all of them; it wasn't an instant fix when we couldn't deal with it anymore. She- she got so bad that Mom couldn't even work, _I_ had to work, until we could find someone willing to watch her during the day- after I came home. I couldn't deal with the guilt trips anymore. I had to come back and help her... So I put everything on hold for them. I thought, this is okay, I can go back, just a year off maybe... Then that turned into two, and three, and I had no friends left in that town; they'd all moved away, they all got to keep at their goals and didn't have this messed up idea that their goals were selfish and abandoning anyone..."

The hitch in her voice brought Thomas to his feet, whether his mind agreed or not. In an instant he was holding her, the way he should have before. She trembled against him, her face firmly nestled into his shoulder, not letting him see. She had closed again, not entirely but some. He let one hand rub her back. Vaguely he remembered she was still in her yardwork clothes, sticky with sweat from the June sun and humidity, and coupled with the fret that she may not want him there, he only just started to move back from her- and her hands caught his shirt, keeping him there. Even as she still didn't look at him.

"I'm sorry-"

"I want to hear this."

"No you don't-"

"Yes I do, darlin'. I promise you."

She sniffed hard, turning her head towards him, not lifting- nuzzling, an act he hadn't expected but, he tucked her head under his chin, smiling gently above her.

"I wanted to kill myself for a year."

"I'm sincerely glad you didn't." He held her tighter.

"I had no friends. I couldn't keep a boyfriend or find one that wasn't awful. My mother was the same. We were in this horrifying cycle of hating our lives and dragging each other down so at least we weren't there alone. My sister was getting worse; I think she could sense how miserable we were, and it made her anxious and scared her, and she couldn't do anything, so like us, it just festered..." She paused and took a shaky breath. "And it stopped, one day... She did in her sleep. She had a heart condition nobody knew about... but at the time it didn't even matter, because even being able to go and do now, to run as far away as I could, I was too depressed to even care. My mother died too. Natural, but so early. I think stress killed her. And her own depression for so long.... Everyone is dead."

 _You're not dead_ , he thought, so loudly. _You made it here._

To him.

To the stretch of time that didn't make any sense and shouldn't exist.

"But... I like to think I'm okay," she said, shrugging a little. He could feel her head shift a little, and he hoped she was smiling. "I mean... I'm still here."

"You are," he murmured, giving her a squeeze. He could hear the brief hum below him, just a tiny glimmer of happiness in all of this.

"I just sometimes still feel... overwhelmed, sort of. I don't know what I'm doing, I'm just fumbling my way around adulthood by myself, I don't have anyone to ask for help who's already been through it."

"You're not by yourself. You have two amazing friends at your beck and call."

"I was hoping I have three," she said quietly, and he only just heard her.

"You do, if you'll have me," he assured. She found comfort in his voice, low and calm. Smooth. He probably intended it this way, she figured, but it was working. "I just didn't want to presume I'm on that same amazing level."

"You got to hear my mess," she murmured. "You are now."

They stood there for a while longer. Her body still shook slightly as she backed down from the short crying jag she'd had while she'd explained every painful truth to him, and every time it did, he'd rub her back or stroke her hair, holding her to him.

"I feel gross," she said.

"Did I cross a line?"

"No, no!" she refuted quickly, and this was when she lifted her head and pulled back, looking at him. His gaze flickered across the puffiness around her eyes and pink, damp skin where tear tracks laid. "I just haven't showered yet."

_Oh, my flower. My darling._

She absolutely was not his in any possible sense of the word; the reminder flew to his mind with the speed of Hamilton swooping in to insult him in front of Congress. It almost even _sounded_ like Hamilton, and any moment he was having now was quickly ruined. Gross, indeed.

Fuck, was he really having a moment?

He let go of her and backed up, hoping his removal wasn't done too quickly.

"I um... I know you didn't ask for any of that," she said suddenly. "It all just kind of came out once I got started... I guess maybe I needed to say it all more than I thought."

"No. No explanations, none of that."

"But-"

"And no buts." She huffed, but she quieted. Thomas smiled.

"You don't show that part of you often. I'm one of very few, I know. For you to allow me in..." He shook his head. She smiled at the way his tight curls bobbed. "I feel truly honored."

"I mean... I guess," she said, smirking a little and shrugging- blowing it off, like this wasn't important.

"I do," he insisted. "All at once, I know so much more of you. Thank you for that."

"Well... you're welcome," she replied, shrugging, looking off to the side. This was new, someone caring so much that she had told them anything. He'd been so... warm. And strong and just _there_ and... "I'm going to shower."

She made her escape, and Thomas made his way to what had more or less become his couch, picked up the Harry Potter book he had moved up to, and threw his thoughts into that world instead of this. Harry's was still somehow less confusing than what his was starting to become.


	8. And His Associate, Dr. J. Madison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this likely may not matter to most of you, but it's come to my attention on my own research that my past locations are not historically accurate, but as Hamilton referenced just a move from NYC to Virginia, excuse me for rolling with that. Just an acknowledgment thing. ALSO SORRY ORIGINALLY THIS WAS A HELLA LONG CHAPTER BUT THEN I REALIZED MAYBE I SHOULD CUT IT INTO TWO, SO WE HAVE THIS TINY DETECTIVE UPDATE.

"Madison."

He had not been pleased to find Hamilton on the stoop of the townhouse he claimed as residence so long as politics needed him there, but there was no ignoring the Treasury Secretary when his mind was on to something, and it almost always was in some way or another. There was some fiery determination in his eyes- or it could have just been the way he never knew when to quit; either one, really. Madison eyed him warily, but his face was stony, indiscernible.

"Hamilton," he acknowledged with one nod. They stood staring at each other for a beat. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"Are you _absolutely sure_ you don't know where Jefferson is?" Alexander asked scarcely after James had finished his question, only asked out of what courtesy dictated respectful. James always left the questionable lines to Thomas, and the mention of him now brought up a frown and furrowed brows.

"I do not," he said firmly. "How many times must I answer that question?"

"I'm taking it upon myself to find him," Hamilton pressed on, again leaving barely any room after James had finished speaking. He held back the roll of his eyes, a mantra in his head pleading with him to be the gentleman of the two of them.

"Why? Do you enjoy the abuse?"

Mostly the gentleman, then.

"Don't you think it's time some order came back to Congress? As long as he's gone, you're not getting anything done either," Alexander reminded. James had to give him that one, nodding slightly. "You have to think of this logically; you owe it to the people to think of this by the facts. It makes no sense for him to disappear into thin air. It's preposterous that someone took him; they would have had to get to him inside Monticello and smuggle him out, without his almighty ruckus he would undoubtedly cause, and nobody seeing anything. That didn't happen, Madison. It just _didn't."_

"Hamilton, if you're implying that Thomas did this all himself..." James began and trailed, a cautionary tone in his voice.

"It makes for an awfully convenient distraction from politics when he comes back and possibly even the upper hand of sympathetic voting, doesn't it?"

The silence was heavy around them as they stared the other down.

"I'm not saying you should believe me," Hamilton added after a moment. "I'm asking you to help me find him."

"What?"

"You're his best friend and closest associate, Madison. I don't know him well enough to find the trails to start with. No one will ever give me a lead if it's only his public enemy showing up looking for information." Madison could not deny the small twinge of satisfaction he felt at the frustration seeping into Alexander's voice. He was stubborn and liked to have the glory for himself, but he was forced to admit that was an unlikely path to success here. Thomas had maneuvered Hamilton into a position of having to ask for help without even being there. Surely he'd get a kick out of that when he came home.

Whenever that was; James had to admit the uncertainty of it all was confounding, and even as theatrical as Thomas could be, this wasn't like him, and that it had gone on for so long... He sighed, but he nodded, meeting Hamilton's gaze.

"I'll help you."

 


	9. And Kill the Envious Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the trend of historical acknowledgments, hell if I know if Jefferson would have known Shakespeare BUT HE DOES FOR MY PURPOSES. ENJOY THIS MESS.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Blue."

"What kind of blue?"

"Mm, I guess... on the lighter side."

Beyond the scattering of trees that gradually thickened up along the skyline, the sun was going through its slow descent and painting with it colors warm and cool, shining buttery golds and warm peaches up against cooling lavenders that were almost pink and streaks of blue towards the higher, unseen curve of the sky. The moon held her court on the other side of the sky, serene and bathed in a gradient of blues, with tiny pinpricks of white speckled throughout. The lethargy of fullness had caught up. Their bodies were sprawled on the old sheet (Y/N) had charmed into a larger size and more durable weight, eyes upward. Thomas lay with his head on (Y/N)'s stomach, and had done for some time now. She didn't object. Sam and Sarah had simultaneously gone completely quiet, only listening to the questions asked back and forth between the other two, wondering if they were even still aware of their presences.

"Sunrise or sunset?" This was (Y/N)'s turn.

"Sunrise."

"Why?"

"You already asked your question."

"So? I let you ask what kind of blue."

"I'm a Ravenclaw, I need to know everything."

"Ooh, I'm a Ravenclaw, I'm so smart so I don't have to play by this game's rules," she mocked.

"I'm a Hufflepuff so I'm a grumpy little badger when things aren't fair," he shot right back. When she laughed at the silly voice he'd taken, he felt fairly sure he'd won, waiting a beat. She didn't ask again.

"Favorite season?"

"Spring. Why did you pick sunrise?"

He could just sense the smile on her face now that she'd gotten around the double-question debacle. He thought a minute, prolonged when focus became harder at the soft touch of her fingers combing through his hair. To most, his hair was off limits. To all, in point of fact, though not by his imposition; there really wasn't anyone that cared to do so... There hadn't been in years. He shut his eyes and shut out the thoughts for now.

"Because it means you get to start again," he answered, a gentle honesty in his voice, unguarded and unassuming. She'd heard it many times, but Sam and Sarah- still listening, still quietly wondering how they were getting away with this all but voyeuristic stay at their own picnic- hadn't, and they shared a glance. "Favorite... hmm... scent?"

"That's an odd one," she remarked. He hummed briefly in reply. The clouds his eyes were trained on had changed a few shades darker in blue and moved quite a bit further than they'd started. "Rain- but out here, out somewhere in nature, not built up and civilized. Wild rain, when everything smells so clean and..." She trailed, looking for the word. Thomas would have glanced up at her, had he the will to move at all. "Alive." He was willing to bet there was that sparkle in her eyes when she said the word, alive just like her when the right thought struck her. When her soul was speaking.

He really had become so fond of her eyes.

"Thomas?" she asked, her voice softer. He gave a hum. "Have you ever been in love?"

Silence enveloped them all, so much so that even the spring insects seemed quieted. It was (Y/N) who broke it, backtracking quickly.

"I'm sorry- I shouldn't have-"

"I have," he said, and she stilled her tongue. His answer, rather than shooing the question, quelled her apology in its tracks. "And I married her... But my Martha departed this world some time ago."

"I'm sorry." Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, and her fingers slowed to a stop. "I'm sure she must've been very special."

"That she was."

The silence came again.

"Have you ever been to Monticello?" was his question, when he couldn't bear the quiet anymore. Over the course of his time here, he had learned from her that many places of early America were treated with historical respect now, including many properties and homes of early leaders- like his beloved Monticello.

"We should go there for the Fourth of July!" Sam piped up suddenly. She laughed at the startled motions of the two so entranced in their questioning. Thomas didn't mind the change, laughing himself.

"Holy shit, you scared me," informed (Y/N) under a grin, as if it hadn't been clear.

"Sorry, we won't repeat anything we heard," Sarah introduced herself back in, now that the cover was blown. "Sam's right though! It's not _that_ far, we could get there in a day, two in worst case scenario, and he's seen our world. We can see his now! Er, sort of."

"No, really, I've actually been looking into this but I was waiting for the right way to spring it on you all," Sam said, sitting upright, an excited tone edging its way in. "Admission for museum-y stuff is discounted that day in groups, and there's going to be fireworks-"

"They have fireworks?"

"Nothing says freedom like fireworks, Thomas," Sam replied in all seriousness to his interruption. "And and _and_ , the best part- at least for _some_ people," as she waggled her eyebrows, "they're having this big, like... party, they're calling it the Independence Ball but I don't know how serious it's going to be, but they want people to come in _period dress_ and, I mean, we have the real deal right here. We can get some dresses in time, can't we? Might cost a little extra shipping but..."

"I think it's a great idea!" Sarah enthused, her grin even visible in the evening's fading light, only a sliver of the sun still above the ground. "We should go. Come on."

"I don't know," (Y/N) hesitated. Her fingers had started playing in his curls again without fully realizing.

"Well, I do. I want to see what they've done to the place," Thomas decided.

"Three against you, (Y/N). Congratulations, Secretary, you've won the vote," Sarah said with an air of importance. (Y/N) huffed.

"Wait, it was my idea," reminded Sam. "Am I the Secretary?"

"No, Thomas is- because he literally is."

"But it was my idea!" she whined.

"Okay, Samilton. Sheesh," Thomas conceded, prompting laughs from at least (Y/N) and Sarah, the historically aware.

"I don't get it."

"His rival back home is Alexander Hamilton, Sam," explained (Y/N).

" _He_ thinks we're rivals," Thomas corrected. "I think he's a little pain in the ass who talks too much."

"Don't be mean," scolded (Y/N) lightly, a smile on her face even so.

"What? It's not like he's here, and even if he was, he's heard worse."

"Well you already went and called me Samilton so I'm going to bring it," called out Sam, who crawled over to (Y/N)'s side and tugged on the arm closest to her. " _Excuse me_ , the lady was my friend first-"

"He made that argument about Lafayette, actually," Thomas casually pointed out. Sam paused while they all laughed, except for her; she just shook her head, smiling in spite.

"Well she still was! Lay off, Jefferson! She's coming with me," she snarked, slowly making some progress, while (Y/N) couldn't help from still laughing at the silliness, and now with Thomas wrapped around her middle to keep her right where she was.

"And who's going to make me?"

"President Sarah!" Sam pointed to her, who was also laughing and now harder. "President, tell this man to respect the laws of friendship!"

"I didn't vote for her!" cried (Y/N).

"She voted for me, obviously," smirked Thomas.

"President I allege that this man bribed an innocent voter!"

"Do you have proof?" Sarah asked, only momentarily composed.

"I don't know, he's probably got hypnotic powers in his hair or something. That's why it's so big."

"I voted for myself; this is my property!"

" _Technical details,_ (Y/N)," sighed Sam, dramatically frustrated.

"I feel my administration has been evicted," said Sarah dejectedly. "Come on, Samilton."

"Wait, where are you going?" Sam asked, as Sarah truly moved to get up from the picnicking sheet.

"Let's clean up before it gets so dark we can't see."

"That's what the flashlight on your phone is for."

"And it's an order from your President."

(Y/N) was still giggling as she watched the two pick up paper plates, plastic bowls and any scattered silverware, and any soda cans they found and could fit in their arms. Her sounds calmed by the time their figures were retreating towards the house. Thomas had resettled himself; she liked the warmth and slight pressure where his head lay on her abdomen.

"Are we still asking questions?" she asked.

"That's a question."

"What a thoughtful observation, Thomas."

"Wasn't it though?"

"Alright, let's see..."

* * *

"I'm worried."

"What? Why?"

It was Sam whose remarks held confusion as they shuffled into the house, careful not to drop anything along their way. Sarah shrugged, searching with purpose for the right words.

"They're so close, Sam."

"And?"

" _And_ he's Thomas fucking Jefferson. Don't you get it? He has to leave someday." She looked at Sam, a sadness in her face that wasn't often seen. "He's got a place in history that he needs to go back to. What if- what if his part of American history ceases to exist as we know it? Because he's _here_ falling in love with..." She stopped herself; the words hadn't been intended. Sam's eyes widened slowly.

"Do you think?"

"I don't know. I didn't mean to say that," Sarah evaded, releasing the clutter from her arms downward to the trash.

"What about (Y/N)?"

"That's what I'm saying, Sam-"

"But what if history turns out okay?" she asked. "What if it's not really as literal as we're thinking it is, you know? She could have created a bubble universe or something, like maybe- maybe he's really here, and the bubble Jefferson is back there going through the motions of what the universe already knows to be true, because... that's what universes do, I don't know! I majored in graphic design, not astrophysics!"

"You know that sounds ridiculous, right?"

"Not any more ridiculous than any of us saying the real Thomas Jefferson materialized in (Y/N)'s witchy room and they're falling in love the longer he stays here," Sam countered. Sarah was quiet at that, rinsing plastic bowls that had held makeshift strawberry shortcake (all they'd really been were individually packaged pound cakes with strawberries and Reddiwhip) and setting them aside to dry.

"Don't you want her to be happy, Sarah?" Sam's voice had gone soft, a meaningfulness she rarely showed. "She's been through so much- if he makes her happy-"

"I'm not saying we should do anything about it," Sarah shot in hastily. "I'm not, I just... Something feels off to me. I want her to be happy! I just... I don't want to see her hurt. And I'm so afraid this all of this is going to play out and hurt her, so much."

* * *

 "The sun or the moon?"

"Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief-"

"Are you seriously quoting Romeo and Juliet to me as your answer?"

"Well fine, if you want to be boring about it," he huffed. "Sun."

"I didn't mean you had to stop," she said, after a pause.

"That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she," he continued on easily. "Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off! It is my lady. Oh, it is my love. Oh, that she knew she were!"

Romeo could say that again.

"She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that? Her eye discourses. I will answer it," (Y/N) added softly. Thomas shifted, his head turning to the side to look upward at her; even though her face did not make it in his sight, purely by the way they were laying, the intent was there. Just looking towards her voice would do. "I am too bold. Tis not to me she speaks. Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return."

"What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp," Thomas picked up. "Her eye in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night."

"See how she leans her cheek upon her hand-"

"Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek!"

"Ay, me..."

When they paused, it was not for lack of words, or lack of not knowing them. They had risen from the ground, half sitting, half kneeling to strive for a more even level and maneuverability.

His face was so close to hers, (Y/N) noted, the thought so loud.

He wished the night would grant him just one mercy of light, so he could take this moment and truly see her eyes, so near to his own. She blinked; the curve of her eyelashes was subtle, but they opened up to those round, unimaginably deep eyes.

"She speaks," he whispered. "O, speak again, bright angel."

"For thou art as glorious to this night..." she trailed, distracted by what seemed in her perception the closeness increasing. Her eyes flickered to his lips, so full.

"HEY!" shouted Sarah from almost back at the house. (Y/N) groaned quietly as the space between them immediately quadrupled. Their gazes each avoided one another, and should their silhouettes be visible, they weren't so near and, should the other two ask, they never had been.

"I can't find my phone! Sam's about to call it. Is it out there with you?"

They sat quietly, and in a moment's notice, the rectangular screen of a phone lit up and a melody of notes began to play.

"Yeah, it's here," (Y/N) shouted back. She reached for it and moved to stand.

"(Y/N)," Thomas murmured, still sat. She looked at him. With only the moonlight, it was difficult to tell, but he could swear her cheeks were flushed. More yet, he could swear she was smiling, not big, but just a touch of one.

"Thank you for the Shakespeare, Thomas," she said quietly, but still she turned, and began to step away. "I've got it, I'm coming," she called to Sarah.

Thomas ran his fingers through his hair, his head tilting back to look at the stars that filtered across the deep, dark blue and the cratered face of the moon, halfway through itself.

It laughed at him, he thought bitterly. The sounds of their laughing about something filtered to him softly.

"Envious moon is right," he growled in frustration, standing. "I'll show you."


	10. Try, Then

A little more than a week led up to the fourth of July. In this time, even as close as they had been, as painfully near to a kiss their lips had moved, and as much as they had shared, there had been an abominable lack of progress in terms of Thomas and (Y/N)'s relationship. Whatever it was now; in fact, it seemed they tried not to think of it. She endeavored to behave normally, like it had never happened, and Thomas, confused and discouraged and unwilling to admit to both, wasn't going to push it. There was outrage as the deaths in Harry Potter began to rack up, comfort in macaroni and cheese, sass battles and Mario Kart races to the proverbial death, but there were no mentions of Shakespeare, and no attempts to rekindle the possibility of a kiss.

The three women of their oddball little group purchased colonial-inspired gowns, in keeping with the encouraged period dress code. From what they could tell, it was a tradition of sorts when the ball was held. People enjoyed dressing up for it, and although it wasn't required, there was plenty of photographical evidence suggesting it was preferred. The shipping so quickly cost dearly, but they relied on the hope it would be worth it, and again with the cost of their preordered tour passes. (" _This_ is discounted!?" Sam had squawked.)

It had benefited to buy together, and in keeping with this, they shipped to Sarah. It was her vehicle they would be using, as well, so this suited her fine; she wouldn't have to transport them anywhere and put them into a car twice, or have them meet elsewhere then pick her and her precious cargo up. They left early in the day with a hope to beat out as much traffic as they could. A holiday's roads were never predictable.

There were a few things so numerous it was impossible to keep a running count of, during the drive to Monticello. One: how many times Thomas and (Y/N) had fallen asleep against one another in the backseat. Two: how many times Thomas asked if they were there yet, when he wasn't asleep. Three: the sheer number of glances exchanged by Sarah and Sam in the front seats over all manner of things that took place behind them.

He whined incessantly in impatience and growing eagerness the longer it took to leave the hotel. It was a necessary expense. They were not about to spend a day walking around Monticello, then celebrating and dancing, and attempt to drive all the way back that night. The very idea was absurd, and even though each woman had remarked at some point in time how broke this whole excursion had already left them, not one of them expressed regrets about the choice or voiced a change of mind. The gowns were hung up in the room Sarah and Sam shared. The choice of either two adjoining rooms or at least one room with two beds was the cost debate of the day, and ultimately, it was decided that perhaps, with Thomas, two beds were best.

And _finally_ , they were really headed for his magnificent Monticello.

Thomas had thought it would be hilarious to dress as himself, and he nearly got away with the idea. (Y/N) suggested against it, citing that perhaps he would be mistaken as an actor or a guide and they would keep getting pestered while they just tried to look at everything like everyone else. His face would still garner confused looks from tour guides, so that would have to do. Privately, as long as it would make (Y/N) laugh later, he was for it.

The look that spread across his features as he took in the sorely missed sight of his home stopped (Y/N) in her tracks, allowing Sarah and Sam to get ahead before they realized the other two weren't with them. There was such joy radiating off of him. Here they were, so many years later, and his home was honored and used to teach people, taken care of in its age. He couldn't have asked for more.

"My pride and joy," he claimed, nearly bursting with pride. "I can't wait to show you, (Y/N), honestly."

"HEY!" Sam shouted. "SLOWPOKES!"

"You go ahead!" (Y/N) yelled back. Thomas looked at her in slight surprise, but he didn't object. Up ahead, though they couldn't see, Sam rolled her eyes, and Sarah had a smile as she shook her head, but they walked onward. (Y/) smiled at Thomas briefly, and they started together, slipping into the same pace. The closer they got to the building, the more noticeable the popularity of today's festivities became.

"I don't know why I didn't think so many people would be here," (Y/N) admitted. "It's silly, it's the biggest national holiday we have. Of course it's packed."

"Well, we planned ahead, right?" reminded Thomas. "So we've got nothing to worry about."

"I know, but..." She looked down as they walked, shrugging. He eyed her curiously. The way she failed to answer suggested to him she'd become embarrassed and dropped it halfway through.

"But what?" If she said nothing, literally or claimed the word, he would keep at it, so she had no real choice but to answer him.

"I kind of hoped we'd be more alone," she confessed. "I get to go through your home with you, even in my time. It's really special."

"You don't have to worry about everyone else, darlin'," he replied.

_There's no one here that can outshine you._

"And hey, if you're worried about getting lost- look for my hair," he added, and she gave a short laugh. Grinning, his hand caught hers. The action hadn't entirely been a conscious one, and while he didn't pause, he did look to her briefly for approval. She was looking, his larger hand wrapped around hers- but she didn't remove herself from it. She went along.

Although he reasoned that she saw it stemming from his mention of getting lost, and maybe just a whim of his excitement bubbling over, Thomas was beaming, and it was more than for his Monticello.

* * *

"You are such a _goof_ ," she chided beneath the giggles she was trying to smother. They stood at the back of a group, and Thomas had been keen to stand near every portrait or other display of himself that he could find. She took a picture once, but insisted the once was enough to his (momentarily sulking) dismay. If anything said on a tour group was incorrect, he would whisper the right information to her, dramatically disappointed in their little space that these museum people just couldn't get him right. As long as it was sure to threaten her composure when quiet was preferred, he was sure to do it.

"There's not nearly enough purple in this place," he huffed to her.

"Is there ever enough purple for you anywhere?" she asked, rolling her eyes but there was no mistaking the smirk she wore with it.

"Look at that, you know me so well darlin'." He grinned cheekily, and she rolled her eyes again, moving along. The tour group, though they only halfway bothered to follow it, dispersed as individuals were allowed to look around on their own.

"You didn't tell me you play violin," she said, nodding towards a display.

"Unless you have one hidden somewhere, all I would've done is whine about not having one, if I did," he said, shrugging beside her.

"I could've tried to make one."

"What, with some 'change to a violin' spell you have handy?" he teased, nudging against her, to which she nudged back.

"Something like that, yeah," she mused. He watched her, gone quiet. There was thought behind her smile, and he waited, hoping.

"I'd like to hear you play someday," she said, softer than before.

"Maybe you will."

"Does being here make you want to go back?"

The question made him pause. He could just see from the corner of his eyes the way she looked at him, a nervous tint of pink on her cheeks. In truth- it did. Being so far away from everything he had known had eventually enabled him to push away the homesick feelings, but they came rushing back here. Having her beside him made it different, a different he knew he would wrestle with later and wonder over in frustration to no end. Looking in on what was his world wasn't lonely, as long as she was there.

How lonely was it going to be if he had to stand in this space without her?

"Not as much as you might think," he said after some thought. It wasn't quite the relief she was looking for, and he knew it. He couldn't give that to her in good conscience. In truth, it did make him miss the past. It did remind him of where he should have been. Only the jarring reminder of what he couldn't have there kept him grounded in the lost time they kept stalling in, unwilling to let go of this life yet or to tell her how much it had come to mean to him.

"Maybe we should find the others. I'm getting hungry," she said, venturing away from such a topic as she retrieved her phone from the pocket of her shorts. "Then we can see what everyone wants to do."

* * *

It was impossible to ignore the way Thomas would smile when his gaze came to rest on her. There was a gentleness but such a light coming off him, like a sunbeam in a bottle. That was pride, when he looked at her, but she didn't catch it.

Thomas did, however. He caught on to the way his chest felt a little lighter when he saw her for the first time, as their trio walked out of Sarah and Sam's room where they'd all been readily available to help each other (Sam in particular was vocal about the monstrosity that was a corset). Her dress was cream, with blue and purple wildflowers embroidered over its full, round skirt. White ruffles lined the ends of her sleeves and the neckline, a full window of skin from shoulder to shoulder and bust. Her (h/c) hair was curled, some of it pinned up, and it was clear now why Sarah had insisted upon buying those flower crowns earlier when they'd only by chance passed the vendor.

"Your flowers match," Thomas had observed. (Y/N) had curtsied to him.

He caught on to the way she no longer fidgeted with her nervous habits in front of him, or when she did, he could quell them for her in an instant. In the time they'd had together, going on a month now, he had watched her confidence grow so strong and bright. She taught him so many things, showed him angles of thinking on issues that applied even to his time that he had never bothered to get to know that way. He saw the ways he had changed because of her, and her because- he liked to dare hope- of him, too. Of course he was proud when he looked upon her.

"Everyone's looking," she noted quietly.

"That would be me, darlin'," he replied, kidding and yet, no, he was not. (Y/N) tutted, but it did make her smile some. His clothes, his Monticello, the anniversary of the country's independence (or, at least, _his_ Declaration; so many his's about all of this). It wasn't the same, but he would be a bold faced liar if he were to so much as try to claim he didn't get a kick out of it when partygoers looked a little confusedly their way and murmured to their companions about how much he looked like Jefferson.

In his opinion, they ought to have been asking about the beauty beside him.

"Well, (Y/N) is set here, but _we_ on the other hand aren't going to relegate ourselves to spinster status," Sam said decidedly.

"We'll catch up with you later," said Sarah, and the two whisked away. Thomas raised a brow at the giggling in their departure, while (Y/N) shook her head.

"I guess that means they're prowling for men," she supposed.

"God help the men," he said. He smirked at the stifled laugh he heard her way. "You could too, you know- if you want to. Don't let me stop you from having fun."

"Now really, Thomas, I'm surprised," she smirked. "You're talking like you're not the life of the party."

"I try to keep my hubris in check." Yet, she was laughing.

"Maybe when it suits you," she only half agreed.

"And when does it suit me?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Oh let's see, when you're trying to flatter me and-or get your way-"

"I don't flatter you into what I want," he refuted (but he did).

"When you've just had your butt handed to you in racing or some other game and it's a humbling experience by default-"

"Okay but when you win, your pride goes through the roof," he countered (and it did, though he got great enjoyment out of her victory moves).

"Every time you try to put mac and cheese in something and it comes out a disgrace to foodkind-"

"Alright I see your point," he attempted to stop her. He had no counterpoint to this, only remembering the failures she could have gone on to name. She was smiling, looking ever so pleased. "You're a pain, you know that?"

"Wouldn't have me any other way, would you?" she posed to him, smile evolving to a cheeky grin.

"Absolutely not, darlin'," he replied, meeting her head on with a wide smile. They held each other's look for a bit of time, (Y/N) the one to cave and look away, blushing. "So, with this being a ball and everything... I can't say I've been to one in some time, but as I recall, it involves dancing," Thomas went on, offering his arm to her. She appeared unsure where to look, gaze fluttering between his arm and his face.

"Oh, um... Okay," she stammered, slipping her arm around his. "I'm not much of a dancer though," she cautioned quickly. "Maybe we better-"

"No," he rejected firmly, giving her a look as he guided her among dancing couples to a vacant spot. "You just haven't done this before, and you're not getting out of this until you've tried and I'm satisfied." She whined dramatically, and he huffed out a brief sigh. If she wanted to be difficult, then fine. So would he. Unlike her, he had been here before. He knew the ins and outs of classic chivalry, and if she was going to try to hide behind the threat of only possibly messing up, where no one would even anyway know under her layers of skirts, he was doing to pull every move in the book he knew to block her efforts.

He centered her and took a step back, bowing like a gentleman. Her curtsy was perfect, and he smiled at her when he stood aright once more.

"(Y/N), may I have the honor of this dance?" he asked, the motions of offering his hand and her taking it passing almost fluidly, as his other held her waist, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. At present, the dance was a waltz; even if she wasn't familiar, he suspected he could guide her into learning easily enough.

"Let me lead you," he said, his eyes on hers, waiting for her nod, to which he smiled and she blushed again. "Don't worry about how you're doing, please. Even if you do misstep, no one can even see it with that wonderful dress you have on."

"Oh, hush," she downplayed, rolling her eyes in that good natured way she had.

"Fine, I'll hush about the dress." They were slipping into the three-quarter rhythm of the dance with ease now. Whether she was catching on or not, she was letting him lead without any problems. "How about, no one would ever notice; when they look this way, all anyone can see is your beauty, I'm sure."

"Oh please."

"If they could catch a star, it would not outshine you."

"Thomas."

"Venus herself could not draw my eyes from you."

"It's going to be like this, is it?"

"Mmmhmm," he drawled out the hum, smirking. She rolled her eyes skyward and shook her head, an altogether pleased yet exasperated yet flatteringly puzzled look on her face as she studied his.

"What am I going to do with you, huh?"

"I could think of a few things," he offered, grinning when she laughed.

"You're taking quite a few flirtatious liberties here, sir," she informed. "I'm not sure I can allow that."

"It's Independence Day and you're going to deprive me of my flirting liberties?" She couldn't help her giggling at his incredulous expression, done on purpose no doubt for her benefit.

"I am a woman of good sense; I cannot be won with such lines," she maintained, a grin with her words. She could absolutely be won with those lines if he kept at it enough, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

In fact, she wasn't so certain at all when she had become okay with it herself. There had been times where her mind had played her memory over and over again, struggled to recite the Shakespearean lines exactly the way he had spoken them, imagined how his lips would feel crashing into hers and her fingers tangled in his hair in passion, not in idle and gentle affection. Several times. She had wanted to- but she hadn't, too nervous that perhaps he had reviewed the chance as a mistake, rightfully interrupted.

"Then I'll have to try harder, won't I?" he supposed, smiling easily at her. She flushed, finding herself at a crossroads as she glanced around them. She could stop this, down one path or the other, if she wanted to.

"Try, then," she answered, offering a smile with a hint of a challenging smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually put my notes at the beginning but because of how I cliffhangered this, HIIIII I KNOW I SUCK~*~ Y'ALL JUST GONNA HAVE TO WAIT A HOT MINUTE. Also disclaimer that this is totally not a thing they do for the 4th at Monticello. Do I care? Nah, clearly.


	11. Evening Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright alright HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER, you can stop worrying where I've gone to. Life got a little busy on me, and it's going to continue for a bit so I may not be updating as regularly as I've got y'all used to (aka pretty much every day, it just might not work out that frequently). In the meantime have some proper fluff. (Also as of typing this 229 hits!?!? waaaahhhh I never thought y'all would be so interested in this mess of mine. Thank you!)

It wasn't that she was running away.

Except she was.

Every time they danced, their bodies seemed to get closer than the last time, his eyes seemed to hold her as a captive audience, their hands felt more right together and fit in such a way. She had fought not to think like this since that night, the one when this whole idea had been proposed. Thomas spoke so freely- too freely, sliding in his sincere complimenting lines that threw her off. They had been flirty before. In fact, if she truly thought about it, it wasn't even uncommon. She had done this to herself, she realized, panting in the evening air somewhere in Monticello's gardens.

Her trembling fingers touched gently to her lips, where he had tried to kiss her. Oh, _God_ , had she just humiliated him? In front of all those people? To refuse him one was thing, but during a dance where people had surely seen her abruptly end theirs and run- as well as she could in that dress- away from her partner was another. Every close of her eyes brought glimpses of the moment- his warm brown eyes searching hers, how long his eyelashes really were and she'd never noticed before. His hand at the small of her back had held her close, and he hadn't pushed her- he _hadn't_ and she knew he was working with what she'd given him, her favorable responses to his charming flirtations and their history leading up to that point, the way she just stood there looking at him with rounded eyes while she struggled with comprehension. It had been a calculated risk, but one he wanted to take with her.

One she seriously doubted he had thought she'd take off running from him in the middle of, before his lips could so much as brush against hers.

 **"** _Fuck,_ " (Y/N) whispered harshly. She felt a little sick, crediting it to a combination of how embarrassed she was of herself and the corset as she struggled to remind herself how to take the deeper breaths she needed now. The layers of her dress swished softly around her as she looked for somewhere to recover out of the way, out of plain sight if some happy couple should come out there.

If Thomas looked for her.

She found a stone bench near a fountain, not as obscured as she would have liked but it was a ways from any doors leading out there, and some fortunately arranged potted trees helped. It was better than standing, and better than nothing. She sat, her head in her hands, her fingers curling tightly into her hair and she groaned suddenly as she realized she was pulling out the pinned up portions of curls. Hastily her fingers found the out of place bobby pins and tried to push them back, but it wasn't the same, and in a growl of frustration suddenly pushed too far she tore at the arrangement, pulling them all out and letting them fall on her lap.

 **"** I'm such a fucking idiot," she nagged quietly to herself, sniffing hard, trying not to cry. Her gaze looked firmly downward, tracing the seams between stones on the garden walkway. That was all she wanted to see. She didn't notice anything coming from her peripheral.

"You'd never know it was your first time in a dress like that, the way you can move," his voice commented. She didn't look up; if anything, she looked even harder at the stones, her arms crossing in front of her and held right up against her on her lap. She rocked slightly, sitting in a cycle of wanting him to leave but wanting him to fight for her. Fight against the underlying issues that held her, even though perhaps some of them were actually grounded in reality- the ones she begged herself not to think about, and her mind showed her that kindness.

"(Y/N)." His voice was soothing, and so close to her now. She shut her eyes tight and begged herself not to lose control, to not cry over this. Thomas watched her, his head tilted and face awash in a perplexed seriousness. "Did I do something wrong?"

"This isn't about you," she snapped. "Not everything is about you, Thomas." Regret stung her, needle pricks in her chest as soon as the words left her. Her shoulders slumped in their tense silence.

"You know, I'm actually capable of realizing that on my own, thanks," he said smoothly, a coldness there that (Y/N) had seldom heard, maybe only on his first day with her, when he'd been so angry about being there. "In fact I was under the impression most things lately have been about you." Her cheeks were burning with her shame, and she sniffed again, holding it back again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her head slightly turning in his direction, but she couldn't meet his face. She heard the soft growl of frustration as he stepped away from her, throwing up his hands.

"I don't know, (Y/N), you tell me," he argued, exasperated. Rightly confused and aggravated with her; she wouldn't argue this. "All I know is I thought we were there. I thought that you wanted this, I thought we were at that point together- we _almost were_ before, don't act like you forgot."

"What do you want me to say, Thomas?" she groaned, her head lifting but avoiding his frame.

"I want you to say what's stopping you! For God's sake, (Y/N), don't act like you don't remember that night-"

"Nothing happened that night," she insisted through gritted teeth, looking down and blinking hard.

"You wouldn't let it happen! We were so close- I could feel your breath, I could see the tiny freckles you have spilled across the bridge of your nose." Her eyes shut so tight, listening to the pleading edge in his voice. "I meant every word I've said to you since then, (Y/N)," he said, his voice carrying such a vulnerable openness that she knew he didn't show just anyone. She sniffed again, afraid to breathe, even more afraid to speak with the certainty of her voice giving way. "I thought you understood my intentions."

"I'm not the one you want, Thomas. I will only let you down, I promise you." Her voice held a warning, to him but to herself as well, a subtle quake to it.

"Enlighten me."

"I don't know how to do this, Thomas," she said in an urgent huff, standing, needing to move, forgotten bobbypins tumbling to the ground. "I've been on my own, I've made bad choices, I've dated bad men. I don't know how to _not_ be alone. I can guarantee you that one day, I will start to push you away, without knowing it, but I'll do it, and I'll second guess what I mean to you while the one imposing distance is me. I'll be upset you aren't there when I won't let you; that's _what I do_ , Thomas, it's what I've always done and I'll sabotage it again."

"I think you're afraid," he said, as he caught her hands she'd been nervously expressive with and fixed her with a look. "You don't know how to let someone take care of you. It's always been you taking care of someone else, all your life. You don't know what to do when someone shows an honest interest in you, so you run- like you just did."

"That's not it," she argued, but half-heartedly, for the sake of it; the reality was exactly as he said, and she flushed crimson in the shadow of sunset.

"Isn't it?" She could feel his eyes on her, a silence holding on. "Look at me," he said softly, after it had dragged on a bit.

"No."

"Look," he said more firmly, releasing one of her hands to tilt her chin up himself. Caught by his eyes, she bit her lip. The push and pull inside her was tiring itself out, the stronger it tried to be for this long. Thomas smiled gently, squeezing the hand he still held. "What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and (Y/N) is the sun-"

"Don't do this," she asked of him quickly, shaking her head.

"Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon," he continued anyway, but it wasn't his voice that finished the line. It was his eyes, so searching as they swept over her face. If she could just give him anything, any little sign that he hadn't dreamt this all up, any glimpse into her heart, that was all he wanted. She was silent, blinking at the tears that still slipped down her cheeks, but she didn't look away. She let him keep her there.

"I don't know what's going to happen," she cautioned, looking down only briefly as she sniffed hard, then lifted her eyes again.

"No one does," he reminded, gentle assurance in his voice.

"And I can't make you any promises," she was quick to add.

"I'm not asking to you, darlin'."

Quietness nestled itself around them, only softly accompanied by the distant hints of music that filtered out from the ball. She tried to look away again; his hand cupped her cheek and gently brought her back. That was met with a small sigh and a subtle squint, while she lifted her free hand to wipe away the lingering damp patches on her face. The deep breath she took was shaky at best, but it steadied her. She even managed to smile, the shyest she'd offered him in a while. When a blush came to her cheeks again, it wasn't mortified this time but a bashful pleasure at the wide smile that bloomed over his lips, meant for her.

"Who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she," she said after a moment, finishing the line he had said to her earlier, her smile stretching a little bigger as she spoke and stepped closer to him, and his thumb rolled gentle circles across the skin of her cheek.

"Far more fair," he murmured to her in soft agreement, before catching her lips against his in one fluid motion. The hand against her cheek moved to cradle the back of her head. There was a tenderness in the kiss she hadn't entirely expected, but an earnest passion, silently promising to her that she really was what he wanted as, vaguely, each of them felt their fingers unlocking from each other and his arm tucked around her waist, and her hands crept up to grip his lapels. It was not one long, solid kiss, though the first was lengthy, but as soon as they would break apart, only just barely, their lips would seek the other out again, until neither of them really knew just how many kisses in succession had gone by.

When they finally did stop, they stood still together, their foreheads together. His eyes lingered on her more than hers did him; she was involved in her thoughts for a moment, closing her eyes as she simply breathed.

"Do you want to go back in?" she asked, open eyes looking up to his.

"Only if you want to," said Thomas. He seemed unable to stop smiling; he doubted this would change anytime soon. "Although so many people watched you run away from me; wouldn't it be awful nice of us to give them some closure?"

"You want to show off that you caught me," she rephrased in plainer terms, taking the sugarcoat off his meaning and smirking at him.

"I won't deny it," he said, shrugging lightly with a playful smile. (Y/N) chuckled, shaking her head a touch and releasing her hands from his jacket, finally.

"I still can't promise you anything, like I said," she reminded, "but I don't think I'll be running from you anymore." She slid her hand into his, fingers wriggling their way between his, and she smiled wide up at him. Thomas gave their hands a squeeze and kissed her one more time.

"Let's go."


	12. Irrational

"You are so beautiful," Thomas's voice murmured, breath a patch of heat on the back of (Y/N)'s neck as he hugged her momentarily from behind.

"Thank you, darlin'," she smiled in reply, turning herself slightly to allow him to kiss her; she had stolen the term for her own use ever since they had decided to go beyond the line of friendship. Thomas didn't seem to mind.

"EXCUSE ME," shouted Sam from across the yard. "ARE YOU THROWING THAT FRISBEE BACK OR ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STAND THERE AND MAKE OUT?" (Y/N) giggled as Thomas groaned dramatically behind her, and she maneuvered his hands away from her and swatted him away.

"Go on then. I'm working anyway."

It was true; she'd been tending to the flowers that bloomed around the house, lugging the garden hose around with Sarah's help and, at times, flipping through a notebook full of scribbled spell notes and trying to help some of the smaller plants along. Thomas had caught her during a break period. She didn't doubt for a second that it was the stretch of her arms above her head and the slight curve it put in her back that caught his attention, leaving her smirking with the thought as she watched the pair. If anyone was a puppy in humanoid form, it was Sam, with an unquenchable thirst to be outside and running and doing. Thomas just happened to be drug along for the ride this time.

"If you'd rather ogle your boyfriend instead of gardening, that's fine," Sarah's teasing voiced interrupted, pulling (Y/N) from her thoughts. "Here," she added, offering a cold bottle of water.

"Nah, I can do that later," she replied, grinning, as her fingers fiddled with the cap. Sarah's smile was a little less than truthful as she nodded slightly and (Y/N) began to chug her water.

"Can I ask you something?" Sarah pressed gently.

"Shoot."

"Something you may not like."

"Okay." She spoke more slowly, arching a brow as she bent to pick up the garden hose again. "Still shoot."

"What's your plan here, (Y/N)?"

"What do you mean?" A confused laugh danced on her words while she looked at Sarah's face.

"I mean with him." She saw the slight falter in (Y/N)'s body language, barely there for a blink of an eye. It did nothing to ease her misgivings.

"Well..." (Y/N) shrugged, mulling over what to say. If there was anything to say at all, Sarah wondered. "I don't know. Who says we need a plan?"

"You're being evasive."

"I am not; I'm just saying we're taking this as it comes."

"Okay, and what happens when history comes?"

"You know, you could help me pull this hose around instead of interrogating me, but that's fine I guess."

"Totally not evasive."

"What do you want me to say, Sarah? Huh?" she snipped, fixing her with a look.

"I'm sorry, I really am. Please, (Y/N), you've got to look at this rationally-"

"Oh, so I'm being irrational now."

"That's not what I said."

"Well you could've fooled me," she huffed, a little more dramatically than intended but none that she would take back.

"You miscast a spell and plucked him right out of the 1790s, (Y/N)!" Sarah reminded, gesturing in exasperation in the direction of the ongoing frisbee battle, increasing in ridiculous throws, angles, and catches that went unnoticed. "He shouldn't be here! It's been great having him around and I know he's been good for you personally, but... but come on, (Y/N)!"

"Well maybe he's supposed to be here," she was quick to argue. "Because I remember what I said- when I miscast it, I said I summon my love, and it brought him to me. And for the life of me, I _could not_ make sense of it, because it made no sense. It seemed insane! Thomas Jefferson? Really?"

"You've got to be kidding me," whispered Sarah, looking skyward.

"Well alright then, if you're so fucking smart, why do you think it picked him? Huh?" snapped (Y/N).

"I don't understand witchcraft any more than you do."

"Oh I think I understand it plenty more than you do, because, you know, I _happen_ to use it. Maybe I messed it up, maybe this isn't at all an ideal situation to be in, but I said _my love_ , and the spell sent him to me, and we're _happy_ , Sarah. Can you be happy for me? Is that beyond you in your ivory tower of rationality?"

"You know what- forget I asked. Forget everything, (Y/N), go ahead," Sarah pressed abruptly, holding up her hands. "Stay in your rose-tinted bubble. History as we know it is absolutely not as important as your happiness."

"You know, I think it's time you went home," she fumed.

"I think so too."

"ARE YOU GUYS ALRIGHT?" Sam's shout from a distance brought both of their gazes out over the yard. She and Thomas had stopped playing, standing together and watching. (Y/N) and Sarah made no moves to hide the fact they refused to look at one another.

"Fine!" (Y/N) called back, waving it off.

"I'm just leaving!" Sarah added, her own wave one of goodbye rather than faked nonchalance. The two waved back. Sarah began the walk to her car while (Y/N) waved her hand at the garden hose to still the flow of water and situated herself on her knees, tending more directly to the blooms.

"That didn't look good," Sam sighed.

"No it did not," agreed Thomas, shaking his head. Faintly (Y/N) cursing over a spell gone awry reached them (meant to encourage a plant and instead all but wilting it), and he frowned slightly, watching her back.

"Do you think I should-"

"No," Sam said, shaking her head and touching his arm gently. "Give her some space." They stood quietly a bit longer. "Let's go play some Mario Kart."

* * *

 

By the time (Y/N) came downstairs after showering off what her body had to show for her gardening endeavors, damp and thin tendrils of hair curling loosely around her face, the sky had begun to change in its symphony of colors with the sunset and the chirp of the frogs around the pond filled the air in their odd chorus. Sam had left sometime while she was upstairs; (Y/N) couldn't blame her. The shower was a long one, and Sam had been there for a good portion of the day and also had the sense to get out of there for whenever (Y/N) and Thomas would have a minute together.

She looked for him, socked feet quiet as she couldn't seem to spot his curls. There was the instinctive jump as his arms looped around her from behind, a smile easing onto her face as she relaxed against him shortly after.

"Got you, darlin'," he said softly, his jaw brushing against the side of her head as he spoke.

"You sure do," she agreed, resting her hands atop his arms.

"You want to tell me what all that was, earlier?" The question hit her off guard, and he felt the very slight way she tensed. In a reassuring way, or meant to be, he held her just a touch tighter.

"Not really, no," she answered. Thomas was quiet, somewhat bent to rest his head on her shoulder. Thomas was content to stand with her. The smell of her shampoo and soap mingled together softly. Any chance for her to recant her reply and tell him anyway, (Y/N) had.

She apparently wasn't biting.

"Okay," he said finally. When he moved to let go of her, it truly had nothing to do with the failed attempt to pry out whatever had happened with Sarah. It had much more to do with wanting to suggest they eat something, but (Y/N)'s hands pushed his arms right back into place.

"Thomas," she said, a little more firmly than normal. Behind her, his eyebrows rose in mild surprise, but he didn't fight her; he put his arms right back where they'd been.

"You're happy here, aren't you, Thomas?" she asked. Thomas felt his brows furrow in response, and he frowned a little. What a question, all of a sudden.

"Yes."

"You're happy with me, aren't you?" she asked almost instantly after the word had left his mouth.

"Yes-"

"You really do want to be with me, don't you?" she asked, turning herself around in his grasp, her hands resting lightly on his upper arms.

"(Y/N), where is this coming from?" he asked, searching her face.

"Answer me."

"You know I do, darlin'."

She didn't follow with another question, but she stared up at him, almost searchingly, and Thomas found himself glued to the spot and confused. The far off echo of the frogs that filtered through window screens was all there was to disturb the quiet of the house.

"Show me," she said after a moment had gone by. Thomas raised his eyebrows at the unmistakable closeness she engaged, not an ounce of room between their bodies.

"(Y/N)-"

" _Show me_ ," she repeated with more insistence, pushing up to kiss him, a little rougher than those she usually initiated and, simultaneously, a little needier. She was doing her best to convince him, and Thomas certainly had no qualms returning her efforts, holding her body flush against his as one hand rose to tangle in her drying hair.

"Are you sure?" he murmured as they broke apart, his words a brush of warm breath over her lips.

"I'm sure," she nodded softly. "Just show me how you feel, Thomas." For a moment more, he stood, watching her, so close. He could see the slight variations, stripes, in her (e/c) irises, only pinpricks of freckles across her skin.

Then he moved, his steps turning her and pushing her against the nearest wall as his lips came crashing back into hers with a fierceness she hadn't felt from him before. This kiss was a claiming one, tangling her up in passion. She'd never want to kiss anyone else again, if he had his say. He smirked into it when the sound of a soft moan hummed in her throat. He could feel her hands holding onto his arms, as if he was the only thing holding her up. They would break apart, but his lips could come right back for hers, bringing down kiss after kiss until she was dizzy in them.

"Thomas," she breathed when he relented, nuzzling against the side of her face, kissing much more softly against her cheek and near her jaw. He groaned quietly, and she almost laughed, the beginnings of one slipping past her lips in a small grin.

"Never liked the sound of my name more, darlin'," he murmured against her. He dipped lower to nip her neck; he grinned over her skin at her little gasp of surprise. "Do you want to head upstairs?"

"Please," she said; the haste with which she spoke did not go unnoticed, and he chuckled lightly with a smirk to follow as his hands settled over the curve of her behind.

"You realize I can't possibly show you how I feel about you in one fell swoop, right? I need ample time for this," he asked. She fixed his cocky grin with a look, but she lost the fight in the end not to smile.

"We have all the time we need," she said. Thomas picked her up by his hold on her and her legs wrapped around him, her arms around his shoulders and fingers playing with curls as he (somehow, without some disastrous result) got them up the stairs.

They really, really didn't, but for what time they had, each of them was willing to pretend it was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reeeeeally, really want to apologize for taking so long to get this written and posted for you guys! I started my new job this week, so I've just been much busier than the usual and when I haven't been busy, I've been tired, and just yeah. Things. Now, I know this ends kind of cliffhanger-y, which leads to my question, do y'all want the smut? Because I'll ABSOLUTELY write y'all some smut if that's the chapter you want. It is what I personally am leaning towards including, but if it's what my dear readers don't want, then I'll gloss over it.


	13. With Him I Need Not Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am SO, so sorry that this chapter has taken so long. Life got in the way of writing. I got a new job, new job did not pan out the way I thought it would, now I'm looking for either another job entirely or a second job depending what I can get... It hasn't been fun. Thank you all so extremely much for your continuing kudos and comments. Your support keeps me going. I am so touched and excited that you all like this ridiculousness, and I promise you I'll be trying to write more often. That being said, it was no easy task writing this for you, oh my goodness. I had thought a few times about throwing up more Sherlock Hamilton and JMads Watson, but that just didn't seem right. I backed myself into a corner of a daunting task ahead of me SO WHAT I'M SAYING IS I HOPE I LIVED UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS AND Y'ALL ENJOY THIS because I sure did. :| ALSO YES I KNOW IT'S UNPROTECTED SEX BUT WE'RE GONNA CLARIFY RIGHT NOW, you are on the pill, it's not gonna be a thing. It's irresponsible and I acknowledge that, but... also I'm the writer and as such, I am god in this story. >____>

While his lips peppered her jawline and cheek with kisses, Thomas set (Y/N) down on her bed. Her room, her space- her comfort zone. This was her request; it made more sense to be here. He felt her begin to move away from him and caught her lips with his while he still could, one hand softly cradling her face, all of it delaying her movement backward. He opened his eyes to find her watching him. A soft blush tinged her cheeks; Thomas had never seen her more endearing in such a simple way.

There was no rush for him in this, not really, although the need (Y/N) had expressed still held a presence in his mind as he reached out to her as she sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her smile as his hand moved down her arm. When hand came to hand, he linked their fingers and leaned in to kiss her again- and again, and again once more, lingering. Learning. There was quietness between them, but it didn't feel out of place. They didn't need speech just yet; their bodies were doing it for them, their eyes, their senses of touch.

His free hand toyed with the hem of her shirt as they kissed again, Thomas smirking against her lips at the quiet whine he won from her when he playfully nipped at her bottom lip. His tongue was quick to apologize for his teeth, and she let it. Her palm fit to his face, pad of her thumb softly rubbing over his scruff for a moment. Said hand eventually slipped back a little to tangle in his curls, at which Thomas gave a quiet whine of his own.

When his hand moved to let go of hers, the departure was a reluctant one; he felt her fingers instinctively tighten to keep him there, but they relented, and his hand joined the other at her shirt's edge. Taking a half-step back from her, straightened, he could see her better now. There was an almost carefulness in his movement as he lifted her shirt, she right in sync with him and raising her arms at the right time. He stood for a moment, looking at her. There was that blush again. This time he wasn't sure it was a good thing, and he made sure to smile at her. One thing he had learned towards her was that no matter how sassy she could be, no matter how confident or collected about anything, reassurance was not a bad thing. That he was there, that he wasn't lying about his affections towards her, and that she was worth the mistaken summon 250-odd years to the future.

"You're beautiful, did you know?" he murmured over her lips, as his arms held around her torso and tugged her closer to him. He felt her smile against his kiss.

He also felt, after a moment of this closeness, her hands try to guide his back to her front, and he let her, curious, withdrawing just enough to see what she was doing. She maneuvered his hands to her chest, her breasts still guarded by her lingerie's cups but that didn't make them any less pleasant to hold, any less round or smooth. Thomas gave them an experimental but gentle squeeze, his thumbs stroking over the material to find any hint of her nipples under there.

"Thomas," she keened quietly, almost a whisper. He squeezed again and let his thumbs' exploration get a touch rougher, now looking for what sounds he could get out of her as well. "Please- here-" Although he continued his touches, he watched curiously while she reached behind her, and he had to chuckle. As much as he would have liked to think he could have undone the garment in the first try, he also knew better. Women's clothing was full of bizarre contraptions, both historically and here in the future. He lifted his hands only to be out of the way when she pulled the bra's straps down her arms and the whole thing off and away from her, sliding off the bed somewhere on the floor. His lips sought hers again as his hands returned to her breasts, massaging and fondling and thumbs rolling gently around her nipples, to which she moaned, and he found himself smiling.

"You like that?" he asked lowly, his breath warm against her neck just before his lips closed in beneath her jaw, giving way to licks, nips, and gentle sucks on the expanse of her neck. Her body shuddered as she gasped softly. She didn't dignify him with an answer- he already knew damn well without one, and they both knew it. Thomas, however, took this to mean he would have to try harder.

"I said- you like that?" he asked again, letting his mouth's touches get a little more insistent with her while at the same time, at her chest, his fingers began to pinch and roll her nipples, stretching slightly and drawing such pretty whimpers and whines out of her.

"Yes," she replied this time, breathily, her eyes closed. She reached out to him, steadying herself, tugging on his shirt.

"In time, darlin'," he chuckled against her skin, kissing her neck one more time. His hands left her breasts, to which she whined instantly. "Shh," he shushed, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. His hands relocated to the waistband of her shorts, toying with them. Once he had a nod from her- and he waited for it, watching her face in all seriousness, giving her another chance to voice her wants or concerns over any of this- he tucked both that waistband and the material of her panties between his fingers and began to pull them down. He went all the way with them, leaving a whimsical trail of kisses down her body.

When he looked up at her, nearly level with her knees as she stepped out of her clothing and toed it away, she was smiling down at him. The word that came to mind was soft- all of her, from her smile to her eyes to her body slowly shown to him. His hands came to her skin, drifting up her legs as he pushed himself standing again. One stopped at her hips, sliding around behind her to hold her to him, while the other left and reached for her face, cupped against her cheek.

"You look shy, darlin'," he observed softly. His hand guided her back to look at him when she tried to turn her head away, flushed and only proving him right even though her smile had grown some. "No, no- look at me..." God Almighty, she was precious, blushing like that, but she had brought her eyes back to him, and he smiled wide. "That's my girl."

"I like that," she said after a moment, just watching the other. "My girl." He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her lips, smiling in the mix.

"Good. It's true." Thomas kissed her again, this time more deeply, working to keep her distracted while he rid himself of his lower clothes, his foot nudging them out of the way when he was done. The kiss broke only when his hands maneuvered down to lift her by her legs and move her onto the bed. A sound of surprise from her lips made him smirk, when she hit the mattress and he wasted no time situating himself above her.

"I meant what I said, by the way," he reminded. "You are beautiful-"

"Oh, stop," she scoffed. The roll of her eyes was one he had seen many times by now, but this also meant he instantly knew she didn't mean it, not one bit, if her smile wasn't enough to give that away.

"And I intend to make you a believer in that, darlin'," he finished, then leaned down to kiss her again. He delighted in the whine he pulled out of her when his teeth gently nipped her lip, and from there, his lips drifted over her skin, dropping kisses here and there as he pleased. Occasionally his teeth would scrape over her skin lightly or truly bite her, just gently. Near her collarbone made her gasp softly, and he paused, lingering. Again- and again, with a smirk- and after a moment he was certain he'd end up leaving her a mark; his tongue grazed over the area a few times as if in apology.

"Tho-aahh-mas," she stammered shakily. He lifted his head to smile at her, ever so pleased with himself and smugly (the little shit, she thought).

"Hmm, you know, I like the sound of that," he noted. (Y/N) scarcely noticed his shifting weight to one arm, the other moving from supporting him on the bed to her abdomen, hand trailing, just needing to touch her. "Say my name again for me, won't you, darlin'?" That smirk was insufferable now as his fingers tweaked her nipple, and she shuddered gently beneath him in surprise and gave a shaky breath, denying him that request as she whimpered and bit her lip. "Please?" Thomas added, rolling the nipple between his fingers, alternating between gentle and a tad more roughly and sometimes releasing it to just tease its sensitive tip, rotating the pad of his thumb over it in a small circle and only just touching. Just to further enforce that he had the upper hand, he straddled her waist, taking care not to sit too heavily, and doted this same attention on her other breast.

"Thommmas," she moaned out whether intended or not, and grinning, he chuckled at her flushed cheeks and the way she kept arching her back just slightly into his touch. She bit her lip, her eyes closed, whimpering softly as he continued to toy with her nipples.

"Perfect, darlin'," he purred and granted her some mercy, needing his arms now as he leaned down to kiss her again- and again, and again.

"I-I need..." She trailed off as his lips moved downward over her again, and he chuckled into a kiss near her chest.

"Be patient." A task easier said than done, he knew. He could feel his own arousal making it difficult to keep his steady pace, but she had told him to show her, and that was exactly what he was going to do. It wasn't his fault if he drove her mad while doing so.

"N-no, I need- I need to tell you something," she said quickly, purposefully before the inevitable gasp as his teeth grazed over a hard nipple. He pushed himself upright slightly, enough to look at her face, curious, and a little concerned at her almost embarrassed expression. He nodded, indicating to go ahead. She glanced away; he resisted his instinct that he'd acted on multiple times already to reach and bring her back to him.

"Sarah and I- we were fighting about you," (Y/N) confessed quietly, as her gaze returned to his. "About history and how it needs you and one of these days we're going to have to face that... But I do want this, Thomas, I do. For who you are. I didn't want you to find that out later and wonder if I manipulated you so you would want to choose me-"

"Shhh, darlin'," he soothed, smoothing her hair and looking at her more intently. "You're making yourself nervous."

"But I-"

"Have nothing to worry about," he finished for her. "I appreciate you telling me the truth, but I also know you wouldn't. You made yourself feel guilty over just the possibility. There's too much heart in you for scheming like that." He smiled to her gently, hand sliding from her hair to her cheek. "Do you still want to do this?"

"I do," she answered, that tentative shyness creeping back into her demeanor as she nodded. "But only if you do- I'm sorry if I ruined-"

"You couldn't ruin anything for me if you tried, darlin'," he stopped her, stealing a kiss from her before he readjusted his positioning to how he had been before her interruption. "Don't worry. You asked me to show you that I'm happy with you, and that's what I plan to do." A kiss near her jawline. "Just let me." A kiss just below her shoulder. "Please." A kiss just above her breasts, between them. He could feel her trying not to squirm. His lips smiled against her skin.

"Show me," she confirmed again, a breathy little thing before swallowing hard. Her heart fluttered in her chest with her quickening breath, waiting for him.

Thomas flicked his tongue over a nipple, almost grinning at the way her body lurched at the touch and she openly moaned- so naturally, he did it again, teasing repetitive licks until he took the bud into his mouth and sucked a bit. The other breast did not go unnoticed, his hand massaging and occasionally teasing that nipple as well, rubbing it between his fingers and gently (sometimes not so) pinching.

"Ffuu-uck-" The sound began as a whimper and elevated into a moan. "Thomas-" If there was a thought to this, it was lost on the two of them, her speech devolving into pleasured whines and whimpers very quickly.

"Use your words, (Y/N)," he teased, his mouth only unoccupied just so he could switch sides.

"Fuck you," she said in almost one single word, about breathed out, and Thomas only chuckled before his lips claimed the other nipple, each erect and hard for him. Another gasp and shudder. He noticed her hands strangling the bedsheets and smirked.

The hand that had been attending to his efforts slowly left its work, bracing him. His other hand moved below and between their bodies, gently teasing her folds without warning, a featherlight dancing touch. The shiver through her body was enough to make him pause.

"You alright, darlin'?" he asked, his breath spilling out warm over her chest, barely off of her. She nodded- but like he'd said, even if he'd been teasing her, the jerk, _use her words._

"That's fine," she assured quickly. His concern for what she liked and didn't like only made her melt even more beneath his touches. Thomas returned to his tasks at hand, gently searching for her clit as his teeth grazed over the soft skin of her breast. To say how wet he found her didn't feed his ego at all would have been a lie. He knew when he found it by her gasping moan and instinctual, quick roll of her hips.

"Please," she whined quietly, arching her back as his thumb pressed so lightly a few times into her clit. " _Please_ Thomas don't tease me-"

"But it's the best part, babygirl," he purred, lips leaving her and his tongue sliding up the curve of her breast.

"I like that name," she told him on a ghost of a breath. He hummed approvingly as his thumb softly rocked into her clit with a rhythm, one he found her slightly working her hips into after a moment. He pressed a kiss to her chest, scattering a line of them slowly down across her stomach. He made a point to put one over her navel, a ticklish spot he'd found before-

"Don't you dare," she warned quickly, an already giggly tone lacing her voice. "Not now- _please_ not now."

"I'll be nice, darlin'," he murmured over her skin, leaving her another kiss and smirking as she squirmed.

As he moved lower still, his hands gently pushed her thighs to be more open towards him. He could see her slightly prop herself up on her arms, watching him. Good; he liked knowing she could see him.

Slowly, Thomas laid on the bed between her legs, and looked up at her. For a moment, that was enough, his deep brown eyes holding contact with hers. His breath was warm over her wet folds, and he could tell she was trying not to squirm. The longer he went without touching her, no helpful little stroke to her clit or anything at all, the more her body wanted him to give her anything, he knew.

"Who's got you, darlin'?" he asked lowly, voice steeped in his own arousal. He allowed her a slight touch, only just brushing against her clit.

"Thomas," she moaned, full and desperate for more than what he was giving, after he'd been so attentive up until now.

"What do you want?" This earned a frustrated and loud whine, as well it should have, honestly.

" _Please_ Thomas- please touch me again," she pleaded. "I want you."

He didn't tease her with further words, but pressed a kiss to her clit, lightly sucking the little bud before working down, his tongue lapping at her wet folds. He teased over her entrance, drawing a lick up her vulva from there to her clit. There he worked for some time, alternating pressures and quickness based on her her responses, the rocking of her hips that started again and speed of her breaths, tumbling out of her with steady quickening along with her whimpers and moans.

The palms of his hands rested on her thighs and gently held her down, also attempting to calm her shudders that came more often. His attentions left her clit- above, she whimpered softly in protest- and his tongue flicked over her vagina once more, tasting her more here and licking with a little more pressure a few times, until gently, slowly, he pushed his tongue inside her.

" _Thomas,"_ she pulled from her lungs in a moaning gasp, fingers gripping the sheets tightly for a moment. "Oh, wow..." He found a rhythm, thrusting his tongue gently within her, licking her walls. It was a strange, new feeling- one she found she didn't mind. One of his hands left her thigh to come up and let his thumb attend to her clit. The doubled sensations drew out lengthier sounds, groaning sighs and needy whines as her hips began to rock.

And he had the nerve, as her arousal pounded through her like a drum and the beat became faster and faster, to _stop_. She cried out in frustration as he sat up, looking at him, the very image of desperation.

"Thomas _please_ ," she begged. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths. Thomas almost felt bad for the interruption and smiled apologetically.

"I'm not holding out on you, babygirl, I promise," he murmured. "I just want to do this the right way." He would, by all means, bring her over the edge. There were no worries on that front. It was only that he would not be doing it with his mouth today.

Her body tensed as, first, he brought one leg over her shoulder, then the tip of his cock began to press inside her. One hand braced him over her, the other rubbed over her leg over and over again, softly but a firm presence simultaneously, meant to relax her as he entered her.

"You're alright, (Y/N)- I've got you," he said softly, calmingly. Her walls tightened around him before expanding, sizing up the intrusion before adjusting. Thomas was not a giant among men, but he was long enough and with some girth besides. The resistance at first around him was not unusual. She was breathing quickly again, whining softly. "Almost there darlin'," he assured, almost an apology. Once in fully, he stilled his movement, letting her adjust and have the say-so in when they would move on.

"Okay," she breathed out, after a moment. "Go."

His thrusts started slow, letting her get used to the motion before he would pull out of her any. She moaned lowly, wincing slightly only at first, as when he'd entered her, but as he found a steady pace, she found herself grinding with him and meeting each thrust into her willingly and eagerly.

"Fuck- (Y/N)," Thomas groaned. She could see why he liked when she said his name in the throes of arousal now.

"Thomas," she urged, a moan quick to follow on a deeper push. "So full..." The words fell from her lips in a whimper as her hands rose to pinch and roll her nipples, the extra stimulation bringing her closer still. Groaning, her head rolled from one side to the other.

"You feel so good for me, babygirl," he complimented, turning his head to leave kisses by her knee over his shoulder, his fingers pressing into her skin as he held her limb there. He held on more tightly as his other arm moved from bracing him above her, maneuvering to fit his hand between where the two of them met and he slid his thumb in to tease her clit.

"Thomas!" she gasped. He watched through lidded eyes as her movements intensified, from her self-stimulation at her chest to the feverish need in her hips rocking to meet his thrusts.

"Close-"

"So close-"

His thumb sped up as he thrust into her harder and deeper, pulling out further than before as he did so, leaving her crying out with moans and her whole body rocking on the bed when he'd come back into her.

"So close, Thomas," she said again, so soon after the first time. "Oh, God..."

"Cum for me, (Y/N)," he groaned, voice low and heavy with his own urgency. He began to move faster, and she was right there to meet him. She began to moan, becoming one lengthy sound and growing in volume and passion as her body quaked beneath him. The burst of energy released in her walls was quick to bring him there as well. Their moans together filled the room, and in a moment, Thomas was kneeling over her, the two of them each left panting for breath.

As he moved to pull out of her, he released her leg and moved it back to its normal place for her. He pulled himself up the bed to fall beside her, rolling on his side to watch her. Her eyes were closed, hair mussed and cheeks still flushed pink. He watched the up and down movement of her chest briefly, let his eyes trail down the rest of her body. She wasn't always proud of it, he knew, but he couldn't see a single thing he didn't admire. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and she fluttered her eyes open, her head lolling to look at him, and she smiled.

"Hey, darlin'," he said softly, reaching out to her, his arm over her stomach. She moved herself closer to him, and he didn't object.

"What happened to babygirl?" she asked, smiling a little wider.

"Can I not call you both things?" he chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

"I do like both," she agreed. She reached out to trace the soft lines of his chest muscles, a contented deep sigh leaving her nose.

"You're a wonderful man, Thomas Jefferson," she murmured. "Remember that."

"As long as you remember you're beautiful."


	14. Red Herrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search at home continues.

"You are doing this on purpose."

The man of shorter stature was fuming, eyes sharp and set in a seemingly permanent squint of annoyance. The larger of the two rolled his eyes as they left yet another destination that proved to be a dead end.

"Yes, Hamilton, clearly I'm delighting in these wild goose chases," James huffed dryly. He watched Alexander march past him, mind already whirring for another possibility to look into. Their leads were running out. Most of them led to people trying to make a buck off of them, hoping they'd be gullible enough- and desperate enough- to bite.

"You know what I think?" Alexander began, pacing the small alley they found themselves in.

"You're going to tell me regardless," James sighed with another roll of his eyes skyward. If Alexander noticed, he paid it no mind.

"I think he knows and he's planting misinformation for us," he continued. This was not the first time Alexander had accused Jefferson of being aware of their search and misleading them purposefully. The first handful of times, it had gotten a reaction out of James, but by now, he was unmoved, coughing into his handkerchief and letting Alexander go on his tangent.

He had many, many tangents, and frankly James could not wait for Thomas to come back to reality so this partnership could cease.

"I think he knows _exactly_ where we are and he's misleading us. He won't come back until it's on _his_ terms, the diva-"

James considered defending his friend, but after a moment's thought, let it slide. Diva was not entirely an inaccurate term to describe Thomas.

"But if he thinks he can get away with this, absolutely not, he is _dead wrong_ -"

"Hamilton," James halfheartedly tried to interject. He didn't expect to succeed, and it came as no surprise to him when he didn't.

"He's got another thing coming to him from Washington when he decides to show his smug, fuchsia, francophile self around here again-"

"Hamilton," James tried a little more forcefully this time.

"What is he thinking? Turning Congress on its head, disappearing long enough that rumors are spreading on the streets- do you swear to me you are absolutely not helping him?"

"We've been over this; I'm not helping him," James grumbled. "Need I remind you that I'm not enjoying this any more than you are."

"Well you're only leading us down dead ends."

"And your theories have proven any better?"

James almost smiled at the sulk that flickered across Alexander's face, knowing the truth in James' retort.

"We need to get back," Alexander said flatly. "Maybe we'll have heard something from Monticello by now."

They began to walk in silence, something James was grateful for in the meantime. Alexander was right; there could have been some news from Jefferson's beloved home, but inside, in truth- James was worried. It had been a month now, give or take some days. No word. No anything. Some people claimed to have seen him, but absolutely no evidence to support these claims showed itself. Thomas loved his job; he delighted in the attention and glorified standing, but these smug and self-indulgent traits aside, he was _good_ at his job. There was substantiated reasoning for Washington choosing him. For him to just run away from it one day, to disappear- from even _him,_ James Madison, his closest and best friend... It didn't feel right, in his heart.

Thomas Jefferson did not vanish on his own accord.

But if not him- who? And where?

James could only hope to God they'd find those answers soon, and that they'd somehow be positive, as the days began to dwindle closer and closer towards a larger chance of the negative.


End file.
